Shell Game

by Carol O’Connell

  „It’s not Paris,“ he said. „But it’ll do. Our last night in France, Louisa and Max met with me in a place like that. It was a few hours before showtime at Faustine’s. Accordion music was coming from some bistro across the park. I remember the tune was bright, and the rain was falling. I held an umbrella over Louisa. She was very upset – frightened. Wanted posters had been delivered to the local police station. The next day, the whole city was going to be papered with Louisa’s photograph and the offer of a bounty. Emile St. John had warned her that morning.“

  „What kind of connections did St. John have?“

  „Emile was a policeman. I told you we all had day jobs. Louisa was desperate. She wanted to make a run for the Spanish frontier. Well, that was suicide. No exit visas were being issued, and security was tight all along the border. Spain had closed like a door. If we tried to use Nick’s forgeries, we’d be arrested. Louisa said she’d rather die than go back to the camp, the interrogations. She was determined to leave France that night – without me. Said she didn’t want me to take one more risk, not for her sake.“

  He poured another glass of wine. „I think I laughed at that. I told her I would always take care of her.“ He poured a glass for his wife. „And then Louisa said she was in love with my best friend. I remember Max’s face – all that pain. And tears? I’m not sure now. That might’ve been the rain.“ He exhaled a cloud of smoke and watched it swirling upward. „I hope Max was crying.“

  „You hated him.“

  He shook his head. „What was I feeling? It was like the three of us had been in a terrible road accident. I was shocked by the sudden damage, the impact. And then this odd hollowness. I always imagined death that way, the soul floating out, weightless, nothing solid to hold it to the earth anymore.“

  „Then Louisa sent Max away – so we could have a private moment, my wife and I. You know what I remember best? The smell of her wet wool coat. That was the last time Louisa put her arms around me. She asked me to forgive her – and Max.“

  „You were angry.“

  „No, I don’t think so – not then. After she’d gone, I put a cigarette in my mouth. I remember standing there like a fool, striking matches in the rain.“

  „And that was the night you changed Louisa’s plans to make a run for the border. You shot her with the crossbow during the opening act. But you weren’t in the theater when she was being killed. You ran away.“

  Everything in his face was asking how she could possibly know that.

  „You were too young to pass for an officer. And Mr. Halpern said you couldn’t speak the language well enough to pass for a German. But there were always German soldiers in the theater. So after you shot Louisa, you had to run.“

  He nodded.

  She pressed on. „It looked like a magic trick gone wrong. Does that sound familiar? Poor old Oliver. But let’s stick with Louisa’s murder. What were the odds the French cops would want to find you? An SS officer who shot an unarmed woman and ran away? No, the local police wouldn’t look too hard. Much easier to report the death as an accident – less embarrassing for everyone. And while you were running away, your wife was being murdered backstage.“

  When Malakhai turned to the ashtray, it contained a fresh cigarette stained with lipstick in Louisa’s shade. He looked at his wife’s glass. It was half empty.

  Mallory closed the purse on the wet sponge soaked with wine. „So you left your wife lying there on the stage, bleeding. Now you’re out on the street. You peeled off the German uniform and stashed it in an alley. You wore street clothes underneath. None of this took more than a few minutes. But Louisa was dead when you got back to the theater.“

  He flicked his lighter. The flame trembled so slightly, Mallory might have missed it if she had not been watching for every sign of weakness. He was staring at the ashtray again – and Louisa’s cigarette. Now it was only a mashed-out stub fetched from Mallory’s purse. He must be wondering if he was missing time, whole minutes, the length of a smoke.

  The waiter had returned to the table. He was asking permission to remove Louisa’s remnants. Malakhai glanced at the cast-off shrimp tails on his wife’s plate. But he had not tampered with the food. How, then? His choices were three: madness, loss of memory – or Mallory.

  The waiter left them with a clean ashtray, removing the evidence of the cigarette stub. Mallory had not yet touched her wine. Malakhai drank deeply.

  „You risked your life for Louisa, and then she slept with your best friend. But you did get even with her. That must be a comfort.“

  No reaction. He had gone elsewhere, traveling in his thoughts.

  „You know what was going through your wife’s mind when you actually shot her – when you drew real blood?“

  He was back again, more alert now, watching her – waiting.

  „She wasn’t expecting that,“ said Mallory. „Louisa thought she was going to be shot with a long red scarf – the way she opened every performance. I can see the look on her face when she saw you in that German uniform. It must have blown her mind away. So she was already stunned like some poor dumb animal in a slaughterhouse. What an easy target. And then you shot her – you of all people. That’s what she was thinking about while she was dying in that back room. You shot her and ran away. That’s all she knew in the last minute of her life – while that bastard was working on her, murdering her.“

  Louisa’s wineglass moved again as Mallory drew the string through the anchor loop inside her purse. A quick tug, a flick of the wrist under the cover of the table, and the end of the string was hidden inside the handbag again.

  Malakhai would not look at the glass anymore.

  She leaned forward. „What did you do in the war?“

  „In Paris? I ran a shell game on the street.“ He looked up at the waiter, who had suddenly appeared at the table to replenish his wineglass. „Milo, do you have any walnuts in the kitchen?“

  „Yes, sir.“

  „Bring me three empty shells.“ He turned back to Mallory. „I believe the only murder you really care about is Oliver’s.“

  She nodded. Diversion was his predictable fallback to avoid any more pain. And now she would get what she came for. „Everyone keeps telling me the old man did the trick wrong.“

  „Oliver’s platform isn’t an exact replica.“

  „I know that. I’ve seen his improvements. Give me something I can work with.“ Distract me from Louisa, so I won’t hurt you anymore.

  „Only the fourth arrow was fatal. If he hadn’t been so frightened, he could’ve avoided the first three. Fear can paralyze a man. Oliver stopped struggling when he realized his key was jammed. That wouldn’t have mattered to Max.“

  „You’re saying Max used fake arrows?“

  „No, he didn’t. Police officers always checked Max’s props. The arrows were identical. No fakes. All the crossbow magazines held three of them.“

  „Then it was a blocking device in the arrow bed?“

  „No. Remember, the dummy gets hit by all the crossbows. And whatever blocks the arrow bed would block the bow string too. But all the strings release with every shot. And the policemen cocked the crossbows. Oliver got that part right.“

  The waiter reappeared with three walnut shells.

  „Thank you, Milo.“ Malakhai lined up the shells on the empty dinner plate. „This is an easier trick. I used to do it with peas. May I borrow your gun?“

  „You’re kidding, right?“ As a rule, cops did not loan out their weapons. The rules became more stringent when the would-be borrower was a madman who dined with his dead wife.

  „Are you afraid I’m going to shoot you in front of all these people?“

  „You shot your wife in front of a bigger audience.“

  „But you don’t really believe I’m planning to kill you.“

  „No, of course not.“ Mallory smiled pleasantly. „But given your history, there’s a good chance I might have an accident.“

  „But you watched me load
a crossbow and cock it. I know it’s not fear. Prudence?“ He picked up his napkin and unfolded it. „Perhaps you think someone might object to the sight of a gun in the dining room. We don’t want to start a stampede for the door.“ He handed her the square of linen large enough to hide three guns. „Here, we’ll be discreet. Wrap it in this. Go on, risk it. I know you want to. You like life on the edge, don’t you, Mallory? I think you’d give it to me, fully loaded, just to see what happens next.“

  It was an exhilarating moment, a replay of her favorite nightmare, flying through the air at great speed – in total darkness.

  He smiled. „But I only need the bullets. If you like, you can leave the gun on the table – just to make it more interesting.“

  She took the napkin from his hand and covered the gun as she slid it out of her holster. In the shelter of her lap, she released the cylinder and emptied six bullets from the chambers.

  Now she handed him the ammo and set the linen-wrapped revolver in the empty space where Louisa’s plate had been. The hidden muzzle was pointed toward Malakhai.

  „You really don’t want to touch that gun.“ Elbows on the table, her hands formed a steeple, fingertips barely touching in the fashion of a tense prayer. „If you want to test your reflexes against mine, it’ll cost you an eye – maybe two.“

  „Understood, but I wasn’t planning a duel.“ Malakhai dropped five bullets among the rolls in the bread basket. „I only need one.“ He placed the bullet under a walnut shell, then moved all three shells in slow circles, interchanging one with another. „You can’t always trust your senses, Mallory. That’s the only warning you get.“ The shells moved faster and faster. Then the action stopped abruptly, and he removed his hands from the table. „Where is the bullet?“

  „Here.“ She picked up the center shell, and there it was.

  „But are you sure it’s the same one?“ He picked up the remaining shells to show her two more bullets that should have been in the bread basket.

  „Cute trick. How does this help me?“ There was an edge to her voice. She lightly touched the rim of Louisa’s wineglass, a small deliberate gesture to threaten him with fresh pain.

  „You believe your eyes, Mallory. That’s a mistake. Magic is what you don’t see. And every good illusion is designed to defy logic.“ He held up a single bullet and pushed the other two aside. „This time I’ll play fair. We’ll only use one.“

  He set the bullet beneath a shell and began the little table dance of circling decoys. When the shells were once again lined up in a row, he put one finger lightly on the top of the first one. „Say I killed Oliver to avenge my wife.“ He touched the second shell. „Or maybe his killer fired that wild gunshot during the parade.“ His finger moved on to the last shell. „Or Oliver screwed up the illusion and killed himself. You don’t want it to be this shell, but it’s a possibility. Now where is the bullet?“

  „It’s none of those things, and the bullet is in your hand.“

  „Very good, Mallory. You’re getting there. However – “ He opened both hands and the bullet was not there.

  One by one, she picked up the shells – no bullet.

  „You still have a ways to go.“ He reached for the napkin concealing the gun.

  Mallory was faster. Not taking her eyes from him, she clutched the mass of rumpled material. It was empty – no gun. She turned to see a single bullet drop from the cloth and roll across the table. The napkin fell in a crumpled heap, and in the next moment, she held Malakhai’s face between her hands – so gently, the other diners must take them for lovers. None of them could see how close her thumbs were to his eyes, long red nails brushing his eyelashes, almost touching his dark blue irises, threatening to blind him. „Very slowly, put both hands flat on the table.“

  His hands appeared on the large dinner plate, the only clear space. He was much too calm.

  „Where is my gun?“

  „Inside the napkin. Have another look.“

  „I’m not playing with you, Malakhai. I’m going to put your eyes out.“

  „All right, now it’s inside the napkin. Look again.“

  Without taking her eyes from his, she reached out one hand for the napkin, and her fingers closed on the solid mass of her revolver.

  Angry, she ripped away the linen and held the naked weapon in her hand. Six bullets silently rolled toward her in single file between the wine bottle and the bread basket. She reloaded them into the chambers of her revolver, not caring that the waiter was standing only a few yards away, watching her and perhaps taking this for a comment on the service.

  Malakhai was smiling. „You must learn to think beyond standard parameters, or you’ll never work it out.“

  Mallory did not see herself in the role of his student; she cared nothing for his instruction. „You haven’t spoken to Louisa tonight. Forget the routine? Did you have another stroke?“

  Disappointed in his silence, she continued in hopes of causing real damage. „You’re losing more memories every day.“

  She caught the unconscious nod of his head. He put his cigarette in the ashtray, and now he noticed Louisa’s fresh one. It was stained with lipstick. Mallory had added no chemicals for smoke; its mere appearance in the ashtray was enough. He stared at it, suddenly wary, as if it might be dangerous to him.

  „It’ll be over soon,“ she said. „You’ll forget your own name.“

  „Less baggage to carry.“

  „Your wife is slipping away from you.“

  „Less heartache.“ He turned his eyes to Mallory, to show her a bit of pain as a gift, an offering he knew would please her.

  „You lost the first Louisa. All you’ve got now is pieces of the monster you made – maybe half a woman left.“ She slipped her gun into the holster. „Let’s keep this simple. I don’t see Oliver killing your wife. But he knew who the murderer was.“

  „Wrong.“ Malakhai shook his head slowly. „Poor Oliver never had a clue. He believed her death was an accident. Louisa was the only corpse he ever saw during the war. The army gave him a desk job, and that embarrassed him. He wanted to fight so badly. Such a brave little man – standing up to all those arrows.“

  Mallory watched his hand close into a fist. Oliver’s death made him angry. This was no act. She had never caught him at that particular kind of deceit and did not see it as his style.

  „No,“ said Malakhai. „I doubt that murder ever crossed his mind. Oliver was a rare good man and very loyal. He would never believe that one of his friends was capable of that.“

  „If Oliver didn’t kill your wife, then he wasn’t murdered for revenge. And he left his fortune to charity, so I don’t have a money motive either. That’s how I know he frightened somebody. That’s all I’ve got left.“

  „You call him by his first name,“ said Malakhai. „You never met him, but he’s always Oliver to you.“

  She ignored this. „The gunshot that went wild and hit the balloon – that was an attempted murder. So I know the killing isn’t over yet. I can’t find you or Nick Prado on the parade tapes. Everyone else was in plain sight when that gun went off.“

  „You take Oliver’s death personally, don’t you?“ Malakhai’s faint smile was wistful. He was oddly affected by this small habit, the use of the dead man’s first name.

  „Maybe Prado was shooting at you. He’s a logical choice,“ said Mallory. „Wasn’t his old stage routine built around trick shots? But he probably wouldn’t have missed what he was aiming at. I think you’re the one who fired that bullet into the balloon. Before the shot went wild, you were targeting the man who killed Oliver. Was it someone on the float? Or did you see Nick Prado in the crowd?“

  „Oliver would’ve adored you – his very own champion, his paladin.“

  „Maybe you blew the shot because you stroked out with the gun in your hand. Or maybe you just don’t have what it takes to kill. What did you do in the war – after Louisa died? Was it a desk job like Oliver’s? Whose army were you in?“

  �
��I started my basic training with the British. Then, before I was finished, they transferred me to an American unit.“

  „Where you did what?“

  „Mass murder.“ His hand was steady as he sipped his wine. His voice was even, almost mechanical. „I tore human beings to shreds with explosives. And then I did my usual meticulous body count. I walked among the dismembered corpses – and the living too. But survivors never lingered very long. I always tallied them up with the dead, even when I could hear them screaming. I counted the broken bloody heads. That was the easiest way to figure out how many people there would’ve been – if all the parts of them had been all together.“

  Chapter 12

  This facility was highly rated by the state of Connecticut – and Mallory. The doors of every room stood open for her inspection, and cold white interior walls carried on the institutional theme of the corridor. There was no personal clutter of family photographs, no stale odor of sedentary patients, no hint of cologne or perfume. Every sign of the residents had been erased. A strong scent of disinfectant further killed any idea of a human habitat; only a fanatical cleaning woman or Detective Mallory could comfortably breathe in this atmosphere. She also approved of the tall nurse who walked beside her. The fragrance of laundry starch hung about his crisp white uniform.

  The nurse was all too familiar with Mr. Roland. „The old man turned eighty-seven last month. Outlived his wife and son. The grandchildren could hardly wait to dump him here. Keep your distance, and forget everything you’ve heard about officers and gentlemen. He spits when he talks, and sometimes he aims it.“

  „He’s gone senile?“

  „Well, he does ramble some. But just between you and me, I think General Roland was always – “ One of his fingers made a spinning motion beside his head, as an illustration for toys in the attic.

  „He told you he was a general?“

  „Yes, ma’am, a five-star general. You’d think the war was still on, the way he barks orders to the staff.“

  But according to Mr. Roland’s service record, obtained by midnight requisition from a military computer, the old man had never been promoted past the rank of lieutenant, and he had been dishonorably discharged before the end of World War II.