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 inspection. 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.
„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.“