This morning, in a rare departure from his Harvard Club uniform, Charles Butler was not wearing a three-piece suit and tie. His blue jeans and denim shirt were a concession to practicality; wading through three decades of dust would be a dirty job.
Mallory pushed up the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Because firearms made civilians nervous and she wore no blazer to cover the holster, she had left her police-issue.38 in the upstairs office. This was a severe breach of her own dress code, which usually included a larger gun.
The rectangle of harsh light from the stairwell extended across four feet of the basement floor, and beyond that was impenetrable darkness. Mallory continued their yearlong argument. „Why don’t I just rewire the wall switch?“
„All that trouble? What for?“ He reached up to the top of the fuse box and pulled down a flashlight. „I think it’s charming this way.“
Yeah, right.
Charles the antique lover thought every broken old thing was charming, even the electrical wiring. Mallory decided to refrain from any more suggestions. It was better to simply wait for him to trip and break his neck in the dark. She was that patient with her friends.
Guided by the flashlight, they walked down a haphazard corridor of packing crates and trunks. The yellow beam roved over a broken rocking ; chair, which might be the source for a trace of wood rot in the air. The smell of dust was everywhere, and now she detected a whiff of mold. Stacks of barrels and cardboard boxes massed in dark towers on all sides. As she skirted around a headless dressmaker’s dummy, part of her mind was still working on the wiring problem.
Originally, this space had been a manufacturing plant with the proportions of a hotel ballroom. But Charles, the giant hobbit, longed for cozier human scale. Maybe he preferred to use the flashlight because it didn’t show the true size of the basement.
„I pulled out the crates last night,“ he said. „All the major parts are accounted for. I couldn’t find the leg irons, but I’m sure they’ll turn up. The platform has to be assembled. That might take a while.“
„I’ve got lots of time. Jack Coffey put me on indefinite leave.“ She didn’t mention that the lieutenant had also taken away her favorite gun. That was still a source of humiliation.
„Not a vacation, I take it.“
„No, but we’re calling it that.“ She followed him to the wall of tall wooden panels joined by hinges. It spanned the entire basement and closed off the area where Max Candle’s illusions were stored – and where the electricity still worked.
Charles stood before the two center panels that passed for a doorway.
They were chained together and padlocked. „The platform hasn’t been unpacked since Cousin Max died. That was thirty years ago. The mechanisms may not be in very good shape.“
Mallory stared at the lock with disdain. It was an oversized antique as large as an alarm clock. „I just want to see how the trick works.“
„I can’t help you with that.“ Charles worked a key in the lock, and the freed chains slid through circles in the wood. „No one knows how the trick was done. That’s why they call it the Lost Illusion.“
He used both hands to spread the pleated segments of the wall. The panels creaked as they shifted back on metal tracks, accordion style, opening to a cavernous space. A gray diffusion of morning light came from a window set high in the wall and level with the floor of the air shaft. Beyond the dirty glass and the iron bars, trash cans of a neighboring building were spilling over with garbage – rodent heaven. One small dark animal slithered up to the window for a better look at her. This creature was too bold to go on living, and Mallory resolved to continue another argument with Charles over the traps that would break this rat’s back.
„There was only one performance with all four crossbows in play,“ said Charles. „That was the out-of-town tryout.“
She turned away from the dark thing at the window. „So it was a bad act?“
„A dangerous act.“ He bent down and touched a globe. It came to life with a soft yellow glow. Alternating current made it grow bright and dim in the natural rhythm of breathing. Above the globe, a painted dragon flowed across three rice paper panels of a folding screen. By a trick of oscillating lamplight, the dragon’s breath was a flickering fire.
Twenty feet away, in a shallow canyon of shelves and cartons, a vertical row of tiny stars were shimmering, forming a bright crack in a patch of solid black shadow. While Charles walked around the dragon screen, Mallory drifted toward the sparkles. Pausing by a floor lamp with a fringed shade, she pulled its chain to cast a circle of light around an old wardrobe trunk standing on end. It had been opened to expose a narrow slit of flashing sequins. Its cracked leather exterior was papered with the faded colors of foreign shipping labels.
The cover of an old record album lay over the opening at the top of the wardrobe. Judging by the even coat of thick grime on the rotting cardboard and the surface of the trunk, neither had been disturbed in decades. At her feet were impressions of large squares. Their wide, hard-edged tracks led off across the floor to the area behind the screen, where Charles was turning on more lamps. So the narrow opening had been protected by the crates he had moved last night. That would explain why the sequins still shimmered, when they should be dulled with a film of dust.
Mallory put her hands into the opening of the wardrobe and spread the sides, using force, for the hinges were frozen with rust. Inside the left half of the trunk was a narrow chest of drawers, and on the right was a rack of tightly packed clothing on hangers. Her eyes passed over gaudy colors and Dangles to settle on the plainest material. She pulled a suit from the rack nd held it up to the light of the floor lamp. The off-white satin had not yellowed, but it did seem richer for the aging. The jacket and trousers were styled for a man, but altered and refitted to a slender figure with a small waist. She looked at the stitching. This was the work of a very good tailor. It rivaled every bit of clothing in her closet.
Charles was walking toward her as she pressed the suit against her own tall body. „Lovely,“ he said. „Where did it come from?“
She nodded toward the trunk. „I know it didn’t belong to your cousin’s wife. Edith was too short.“
His hand grazed one of the shipping labels. „Faustine’s Magic Theater. I remember this. It was part of a large shipment from an abandoned theater in Paris. Max bought up the entire stock after the war. The costumes must have belonged to one of the performers. When I was a little boy, this trunk was always locked.“
Mallory riffled through the lingerie in the top drawer. Her hand touched a flat object, and she pulled out a passport. The name on the inside page was clear, but the photograph had been mutilated, the face scratched away with a sharp object. Turning to the other side of the trunk, where the clothes were racked, she prowled through them, pocket by pocket, until she found a card with French text and the same name. „The trunk belonged to Louisa Malakhai. I wonder what Edith thought of her husband keeping another woman’s clothes?“
„If you’re thinking she might have been jealous, you couldn’t be more wrong,“ said Charles. „Louisa died years before Max even met Edith.“
„Another accident?“ Mallory looked down at the lock. It had been forced, but long ago. Rust filled the marks made by a tool twisting the metal catch. Charles had said it was always locked when he was a child, but perhaps Max Candle was still alive when his wife had broken it open.
She casually handed him Louisa Malakhai s open passport. As he looked down at the inside page, his face was suddenly grim. Perhaps he was drawing his own conclusions about who had vandalized the photograph and why. And now he was looking at the obvious damage to the lock. His freakish brain could add up evidence faster than hers.
„Accidents happen,“ said Charles, setting the passport on the top of the trunk, pretending he had not seen that bit of wifely violence in the scratches across the face of another woman. „In fact, that’s why Max retired the crossbow trick after one performance. Someone died attempting it.“
„But it’s all a cheat,“ said Mallory. „You’d have to work at it to get killed in a magic act.“
„In most cases, you’d be right,“ said Charles. „Even Houdini was no Houdini. But Max wasn’t like any other magician.“
She followed him to the other side of the dragon screen, where more globe lights and another old floor lamp illuminated the plastic drapes of metal wardrobe racks. Inside the protective cover of cellophane, a thousand rhinestones threw back a riot of light. Silk and satin materials gleamed in every color. Beyond the racks were rows of sturdy metal shelving material, and this was all that Mallory approved of. She cared nothing for the contents of the shelves, the dust-gathering clutter of leather hatboxes and giant playing cards, ornate painted canisters and small trunks. There were so many cartons and loose goods spread across the rest of the floor, it would take years to inventory Charles’s inheritance.
The lamp farthest from the dragon screen illuminated the familiar guillotine. High in the air, a wicked metal blade hung waiting between tall stocks of wood. She pointed to it. „I know that’s a cheat.“
„Well, Max created the guillotine back in the days when Edith was in the act, losing her head every night. She wasn’t inclined to take risks.“
Charles looked over the large wooden boxes ganged together on the floor. Tall panels of thick wood were propped up against one wall of shelves. „As I recall, the platform is peg-and-groove construction, like a giant Erector set.“
Two hours later, the shell had been assembled into a box nine feet square and fronted with stairs. The other three sides were paneled in dark rosewood. Thirteen steps led to a stage and two standing posts of light maple. Mallory looked up at the oval target hanging between them. The pegs at the sides of the target were painted black, and so it appeared to float in space. „Looks just like the one Oliver Tree used.“
„It should.“ Charles stood by the side of the platform. „Oliver did most of the work on this one. He was a fine carpenter. There is one difference in the target – the pegs that fit into the post slots. Max’s are wooden. Oliver’s are steel.“
She looked down at the square metal wells sunk into the first step, a pair on each side. They were made to receive the matching brass posts at the bases of the four pedestals. „That’s different, too. In the news clips from Oliver’s act, it looked like the pedestals were bolted down.“
„He was always improving on things. Probably thought it was safer that way. From what I saw of his replica, everything else was the same. But I never had a look at his interior room.“ One hand brushed the center panel of a side wall to the right of the staircase. „The pressure lock should be here.“
He pushed on a slat of wood. The panel opened, and now they could see into the hollow heart of the platform. Overhead, the open trapdoors provided dim light. Charles walked in and pulled the chain of a hanging lamp. The round metal shade cast a bright circle of light on the floor and left the ceiling in shadows.
„Amazing,“ he said. „That bulb is at least thirty years old.“
Mallory leaned into the small room and surveyed the walls of slots, pegs and grooves awaiting their matching parts.
„I never saw Max load the mechanisms.“ Charles stood in the doorway looking over the stacks of unopened crates. „It’s going to be a bit like assembling a Chinese puzzle block.“ He walked over to the nearest box and read the label. „Lazy tongs. I know where this one goes – under the center trapdoor. No other place for it.“
Mallory walked around to the staircase as Charles and the box disappeared into the shell.
He called out, „If you’re ever down here alone, remember there’s no knob on the inside. I got locked in once when I was a little boy.“
„What about the trapdoors?“
„You can’t work them from the inside. They open with the foot levers on the stage.“
„Sounds like careless carpentry.“
„Well, if there is another way to open them, Max never told me. He didn’t want me playing down here alone. Too dangerous, he said.“
Yeah, right.
Mallory was halfway up the platform steps when she heard Riker’s voice calling out, „Hey, where is everybody?“
At this height, she could see over the top of the dragon screen. Her partner was standing on the other side in a sorry mismatch of new and old clothes. Mallory resolved to steal the man’s hat so it could be brushed and blocked. The scuffed shoes would pose a more difficult problem in her project of cleaning Riker.
He rounded the screen and stood before the platform, pointing back toward the dark opening in the accordion wall. „I almost broke my neck out there.“
„You’re late.“ She glanced at the paper sack in his right hand. It was large enough to hold her.357 revolver.
„I stopped to buy a newspaper.“ Riker held it up to display the large block print on the front page. „Congratulations. It’s the longest headline this rag ever ran. ‘Cop slays puppy as a thousand children watch.’“
And now that he had the desired reaction – she was pissed off – he folded the tabloid into the deep pocket of his coat. „Lucky they only ran a photo of the balloon. Now all those little kids won’t recognize you on the street – and pelt you with their beer cans.“ Riker was grinning.
Mallory was not. „So what did Coffey say? Does he still think I’m dangerously nuts?“ Is that what you think, too?
„What?“ A surprised Charles was standing by the side of the platform. „Jack Coffey said that?“
Riker shrugged. „Naw, she’s exaggerating again.“ He looked up at Mallory, six steps above him on the staircase. „The lieutenant never said you were crazy. He just didn’t want the other guys to find out you were seriously gun-happy. There’s a difference.“
She looked down at Riker, eyes narrowing. „So, you’re still backing Coffey.“
„You mean his little spiel on dead cops? That was part of your education, kid. You needed to hear it.“ He climbed the steps to join her on the staircase. „But I’m on your side. Always have been.“
Not always, not yesterday.
Charles had disappeared back inside the platform room. And now a tangle of twisted metal was slowly rising from the square opening in the floorboards. It resembled mangled umbrella bones as it hovered for a moment before toppling over in a crash of wire and steel. Then it was dragged back down again, and Charles’s smiling face popped out of the opening. From Mallory’s position on the stairs, it appeared that his head had been severed and carelessly left on the floorboards.
„Still has a few bugs to work out,“ said the grinning head.
As Charles slowly sank below the level of the stage floor, Riker whistled in appreciation. „Now that’s cool.“
Mallory was staring at the paper sack clutched in the detective’s hand. „Did you get my gun back from Coffey?“
„You mean the cannon?“ He shook his head. „The lieutenant says you’ll have to make do with your.38. Remember the one the department gave you when you signed up? The legal gun?“
„Does he think I’m going to run amok through another crowd?“
„No,“ said Riker. „I think he’s still holding a grudge for the rat shooting. Some people are buggy about dogs. The lieutenant’s gone soft on rats with pet names.“
Charles’s head reappeared at the square opening in the stage floor. „You shot the man’s pet rat?“
Mallory turned on the talking head. „Charles, don’t start with me.“
He ducked down into the platform, and she could barely hear his muffled muttering: „I’m sure the rat had it coming.“
Riker climbed to the top of the platform and crouched down by the trapdoor. Leaning over the opening, he said, „The rat was named Oscar.“
„Could’ve been worse,“ Charles’s voice called up from the hole. „It’s not like she shot Coffey’s dog.“
Mallory looked up to the high ceiling. After a quiet moment of self-censorship, she faced her partner. „Did you get anything useful?“
„Hey,“ said Riker, walking back toward the staircase. „Would I come empty-handed?“
Charles remained undercover, saying, „Not while she still has two guns left.“
She climbed to the top of the stairs and stood next to Riker, ignoring the other face smiling up at her from the dark square in the floor. „Did you at least get the files on Oliver Tree?“
„Don’t need ‘em.“ Riker dipped one hand into his paper sack and pulled out a manila folder. „The West Side cops got tired of being ambushed by reporters, so they issued a press release. It’s all in here. The papers will get it in the morning.“
She took the folder from his hand and opened it to see only two sheets of spare text. Not good enough. „You didn’t talk to the West Side detective, did you?“
„Lieutenant Coffey nixed that idea. Remember? But it doesn’t matter.“ He tapped the folder in her hand. „You got all the facts. Nothing wrong with the crossbows. They all checked out. The handcuffs belonged to the cops in the act. Nobody could’ve tampered with ‘em. What got the old man killed was his own cuff key. It was broken off in the handcuffs.“
Mallory was unconsciously crumpling the sheets in her hand. „What about Oliver Tree’s executor? Did he give you the breakdown on the will?“
„Never talked to him. He’s on a cruise ship for the next three days.“
So Riker had not done either of the scheduled interviews. Yet he seemed pleased with himself. „That’s it, Mallory. Accidental death. If the key hadn’t broken, the old guy would still be alive.“
„For a few million dollars, somebody might’ve tampered with it. I need the executor’s copy – “
„It’s an old piece of metal. You don’t have to spend good money on lab reports to see that. No marks, no cut points.“
„Did you get the name of the executor’s cruise line?“
„What for? It’s an accidental death. We can’t lean on the executor for information, and we sure as hell can’t drag him off a cruise ship. It was a waste of time anyway. Fat chance a lawyer would give me the time of day without a warrant.“ Riker handed her the brown paper bag. „That’s a present from one of the cops in the old man’s magic act.“
She pulled out a pair of handcuffs. „No evidence bag? No paperwork?“
„Kid, they never get that fancy for an accidental death.“
For Riker’s benefit, she made a show of studying the handcuffs. A week ago, she had made a more careful examination while this evidence was shackled to the wrist of a cadaver on Dr. Slope’s autopsy table. But she had neglected to mention that morgue visit to Riker.
Mallory pointed to the broken shaft of metal protruding from the lock. „Where’s the rest of it?“
„Never satisfied, are you? The uniforms never found the other piece.“ Riker unbuttoned his coat, preparing to stay awhile. „Now the cop who owns those cuffs – he’ll keep his mouth shut. Coffey won’t know we’ve been talking to anybody in the uptown precinct.“
As if I care. So the manacles had never been processed. „No paper to show a chain of possession. Useless for court evidence.“
„Look at them, Mallory. There’s a broken key jammed in the damn lock. That cinches the accident finding.“
She descended the stairs and stood by a floor lamp, holding the manacles close to the bulb. The broken section of metal was both bright and dark. „This is evidence of murder – or it would’ve been if anybody’d done their job right.“ And Mallory included Riker in this defamation.
Last week, she had been the only cop to attend the postmortem for Oliver Tree. Dr. Slope had closed the little man’s frightened eyes and denied her request, calling it unnecessary and ghoulish. The medical examiner had not even cut into the body, for accidents did not merit full autopsies. Finally, Mallory had done the job herself. She had taken up Slope’s hammer and broken the little carpenter’s hand, rather than damage evidence by removing the broken key or sawing through the metal bracelet.
And after she had so carefully and ruthlessly preserved the handcuffs, what had the West Side detective done? He had tossed them back to the cop who owned them – a damned souvenir.
What could she salvage? „If I give these cuffs to Heller, he’ll say it was an old key shined up to – “
„Heller’s not gonna say squat.“ Riker came down the stairs, stepping slowly and shaking his head. „Forensics isn’t gonna waste time or money on this. And your favorite suspect? You really think that old man left his money to a junkie? Think about it, kid. Why would the nephew kill to inherit millions, and then take a hundred bucks to do that crossbow stunt in the parade? Does that sound like a hot murder suspect with a money motive?“
No, but the nephew was still useful. „You’re not planning to mention that little detail to Coffey, are you?“
Now Riker had the look of a man discovering that his drink had been watered down. „You never liked that junkie for a suspect. You scammed Coffey, didn’t you?“
Mallory was rigid, silently waiting for her anger to pass off. If Riker had only believed in the gunman at the parade, she wouldn’t have needed a scam to keep her in the game.
„Maybe you’re both right.“ Charles was fitting the base of a pedestal into a steel well on the staircase. Three clockwork gears of tarnished brass formed a column four feet tall. „The Lost Illusion was dangerous. Suppose Oliver compounded his risk by using an old key?“
„I don’t think he was that stupid.“ Mallory teased the piece of broken metal out of the lock with her fingernails. „But planting an old key was a good idea for the killer. A weakness in a new key would stand out in a test for metal fatigue.“
And now the metal was free of the lock. She stared at the odd detail of the slotted shaft. „I say the metal was shined up to look like new. So who has an old cuff key lying around? I got it narrowed down to cops and magicians.“
Charles walked up behind her and looked over her shoulder at the broken bit of metal in her open hand. „There’s nothing wrong with the key plug. It’s only the extension that’s broken.“
„Key plug?“ Now she saw the joint line in the metal between the tooth of the key and the slot. She looked up at Charles. „You’ve seen this before?“
„Yes, it’s just like Max’s. Elegant thing. It might be the only design that Oliver couldn’t improve on.“ He walked back to the platform and knelt down to search through a box of tools. „There are all sorts of ways to open handcuffs. You can even do it with a wire.“
„Not NYPD cuffs,“ said Riker. „They’re the best.“
„Well, most can be opened with a wire or a pick,“ said Charles. And Mallory knew he was being tactful. Riker’s knowledge of locks did not extend beyond the aluminum tabs that opened his beer cans.
Charles pulled a green velvet pouch from the toolbox. „But if your life depends on it, and you’re really pressed for time, it’s always wise to use a key“
Mallory hunkered down beside the toolbox and stared at the embroidered F. This was a twin to the small bag Slope had removed from Oliver Tree’s clothing. She wondered what the brilliant West Side detective had done with that piece of evidence.
Charles opened the pouch and pulled out a collection of short metal posts dangling from the narrow opening in a four-inch rod. „See the slot? It’s identical to what’s left of yours.“
She stared at the fringe of metal posts. Some were hollow and a few were solid. They had the thickness and the teeth of handcuff keys, but they were too short to be of any use.
„This is an old souvenir from Faustine’s Magic Theater.“ Charles unscrewed a ball at one end of the slotted rod and emptied a dozen key plugs into his hand. „Some of these are antiques.“ He pointed to one of them. „This is the key Houdini used to open English handcuffs. I think they were called Darbys.“ He held up another post with teeth on both sides. „And this one opens Martin Daley bottleneck cuffs. One of these is a master for the Boer War model, like the old padlock on the accordion door. And the rest are – “
„Masters?“ Mallory stood up to hold one plug closer to the light. And now she noticed the detail of fine grooves on its head.
Riker took the broken key from her hand and unscrewed it from the shaft. He looked back at the plug she was holding. „They’re all master keys?“
„Yes,“ said Charles. „One of Faustine’s many husbands was a toolmaker.“ He screwed a key plug into the end of the rod. „This extends the reach, so you can work a lock with one cuffed hand.“ He stood up and pointed to the manacles in Mallory’s hand. „May I?“ He picked them up and turned his back for a moment. Then he faced her again, holding them out to her. „Here, lock up my right hand and don’t let go of the other bracelet.“
She obliged, slipping one manacle over Charles’s wrist and locking it shut. He raised the cuffed hand above his head, dragging her arm upward by the chain connected to the bracelet’s mate. When he lowered his hand again, the metal fell from his wrist, open and dangling from the handcuff Mallory was holding.
Startled, Riker took Charles’s key and held it up to the broken one. „How did you do that so fast? I swear, I never saw you work the lock.“
„Nothing to it.“ Charles looked at Mallory, almost apologetic. „Oliver might have been killed by sentiment – using his old key from Faustine’s.“
„And he used the wrong key plug,“ said Riker. „Charles’s key doesn’t match the broken one. Sorry, kid. There goes your case. The metal broke because the old guy was forcing the wrong plug in the lock.“
Mallory snatched back the keys and closed them in a tight fist. „How many people would have these things?“
„Anyone who worked for Faustine might have one,“ said Charles. „And they’re probably the originals. These days, it’s wildly expensive to make new ones. A locksmith couldn’t do it. You’d need a custom machinist, a real craftsman.“
Mallory smiled. „So now I’ve got somebody in that circle of old men.“
Riker threw up his hands in exasperation. „It’s the wrong key. How can you look at the same evidence and – “
„You think Oliver didn’t test the key? It took Charles three seconds to find the right master.“
„Oliver might have been nervous,“ said Charles. „Stage fright. Accidents do – “
„He was in the restoration business,“ she said. „He understood metal fatigue. So what’re the odds he’d use a fifty-year-old key extension that might get him killed? Somebody switched them. That’s why it’s the wrong key plug.“
Riker was unconvinced, but not up for a fight. „It isn’t enough to sell a jury on murder.“
„Maybe not,“ she said. „But it’s a damn good start. If the nephew had access to the old man’s crossbows, he might know about this key. You have to interview him today.“
„The reporters wanna talk to him, too,“ said Riker. „They’d like his point of view on the great balloon assassination. But they can’t find him. Nobody can.“
„Keep looking. And I want my.357 back.“
„Oh, forget the damn gun,“ said Riker. „Why go out of your way to jerk Coffey around? Your.38 makes smaller holes, but it’ll do.“
Charles ducked out of this argument. He picked up a nine-foot post and climbed the steps to the top of the platform.
He was standing on a stepladder, holding the crossbeam over the two vertical posts, carefully fitting pegs into receiving holes, when Mallory called up to him. „That wasn’t on Oliver’s platform.“
Charles nodded as he locked the pegs into place. „I know, but see this?“ He pointed to a recessed lightbulb socket in the underside of the crossbeam. „It also holds up the curtains. There’s a drapery rod running along the back – “
„Oliver didn’t use curtains or a lamp.“
„Mallory, let’s put the whole thing together. Then you can eliminate the pieces you don’t like.“
Riker bent over an open crate and pulled out a crossbow. A thick band of strings dangled loose. The handle and trigger were shaped like a gun. Instead of a hammer to cock it, a long curving piece of metal extended out from the pistol grip. „Hey, Charles?“ Riker pointed to the narrow box of wood on top of the shaft. „A magazine?“
„Yes, it’s a repeater.“ Charles came down the steps, two at a time. „The magazine holds a load of three arrows.“ He took the weapon from Riker. „It needs a cleaning and some oil. A dry firing might wreck it.“ He carried it back to the platform and fitted the pistol grip into a receiving well at the top of the clockwork pedestal. Now it was aiming up toward the oval target. „Mallory, don’t ever fool with this if you’re down here alone. It’s dangerous.“
„Yeah, right.“
„I told you, it killed someone.“
Riker looked up from his perusal of another crate. „Someone besides Oliver Tree?“
„Yes, another casualty,“ said Charles. „Max was trying out the act in a small town. Two local boys snuck backstage after the performance. One of them claimed he could do the trick. A bet was made, and the boy died – only seventeen years old.“
„So the trick was always dangerous.“ Riker looked at Mallory to say, I told you so. And then his eyes traveled over all the open crates and mechanisms. „Pretty big production for one lousy trick.“
„Oh, no,“ said Charles. „This platform worked for quite a number of illusions. The crates have props for at least twelve different tricks. It’s going to take a while to sort it out.“
Mallory stood next to one of the pedestals of large brass circles with squared-off teeth. This one was not yet topped with a crossbow. A metal peg fell from a hole near the edge of the top gear.
„I’ll fix that.“ Charles picked up the peg and slipped it back into place. „There should be a red flag on the peg. That’s so the audience can follow it around the gear. When the peg gets to the top, it hits the trigger of the crossbow. Oliver missed that detail – no flags.“
Riker nodded. „Makes you wonder what else the old guy missed.“
Charles wound up a key in the side of the pedestal, then depressed a button near the top. The brass wheels began to move with a grinding noise. „Everything needs oil.“
He bent down to the toolbox and picked up an aerosol can. After a quick spray of machine oil, the gears revolved with the slow steady tick of a loud clock. Mallory watched the peg climb to the top of its orbit where the next crossbow would be installed. She looked at the remaining weapons in the crate at her feet. „They all fire?“
„Hopefully,“ said Charles. „No fakes if that’s what you mean. But we can’t shoot with them today. They need a good cleaning and new strings.“
Riker sat on the bottom step of the platform and looked up at Mallory. „So you figure one of those old guys for a suspect?“
The clockwork gears were still moving. Tick, tick, tick -
„They were at the Central Park magic show, and the parade too.“
„So was Charles,“ said Riker, smiling.
– tick, tick -
„Charles is excused.“ But Riker was not.
„Okay, Mallory.“ His tone was entirely too condescending. „Now what about the gunman in the crowd, the balloon killer?“
– tick -
Mallory turned on her partner. „What do you care, Riker? You and the lieutenant think I lied about that shooting. That’s why Coffey won’t let me do the interviews. And you don’t even bother to tag the evidence.“
– tick, tick, tick, tick -
For a large man, Charles Butler could move with surprising stealth. He was melting away, slipping back inside the platform, where the atmosphere was less disturbing and possibly safer.
„Hold on, Mallory.“ Riker rose to a stand. „You’re way out of line.“
– tick, tick, tick -
Her own voice was devoid of inflection. „I was a fool to tell you I shot that rat. You handed Coffey ammunition for his nutcase lecture. Did you guys practice that routine?“ Her hands were rising, and his eyes got a little wider. Maybe he thought she meant to strike him.
– tick, tick -
Arms raised above her head in the prisoner’s posture, she turned her body in a slow revolution to show him that she was not concealing a weapon. „When you report back to Lieutenant Coffey, tell him I’m not wearing a gun today. All the rats can rest easy.“ The implication was clear – she included him among the vermin.
– tick -
Riker was about to say something, but then thought better of it, closing his mouth in a thin tight line. He turned his back on her and rounded the dragon screen, heading for the way out.
She heard the sound of something being kicked out of the way in the darkness beyond the accordion wall. Judging by the crash, Riker’s foot had sent its target a good distance. He rarely lost his temper. And his anger had never been directed at her, no matter how many tests she had devised for him during her childhood and in more recent times.
She had finally found Riker’s trigger.
– tick, tick, tick, tick -