„I almost forgot.“ He pulled a CD from the pocket of his suitcoat and set it on the corner of her desk. „A present. Louisa’s Concerto. Emile St. John wanted you to have it.“
She opened the case and slipped the disk into a computer slot. A full orchestra poured out of amplifiers in every wall. He was surrounded by musical instruments, a wall of sound. It was classical, not his taste, and he listened with the confusion of trying to sort out an alien language.
„Pretty, I guess. But you know what your old man would say? What good is it if you can’t dance to it?“
That had been his old friend’s criterion for all the music in an extensive collection of blues, jazz and rock ‘n’ roll. Even the slow, sad tunes did something to the human body. But now the dead woman’s music was touching him in other ways. Suddenly, it had his complete attention, as if the strings and horns were speaking to him in a more familiar language. This passage had a sad, lonely feeling.
The phone rang. Riker’s hand hovered over the receiver while he read the printed line on the caller-ID machine. „It’s Charles.“
„Don’t answer it.“
„You’re gonna let him sit around staring at the walls in your empty office till he figures out where things went wrong? Is that the plan?“
„Yeah, so?“
„He’s a friend of yours, remember? And your old man liked him, too.“
Louisa’s Concerto was plaintive now, lending melancholy to the ring of the telephone, backing it up with the low octaves of a sad, sorry horn. And now Riker was surprised. While the concerto affected Mallory not at all, the telephone made her inexplicably sad. Her head moved slowly from side to side, as if she could shake off the blues this way.
Riker’s solution was to turn up the volume of the music and avert his eyes from the phone. „So if Charles isn’t on your side all the way down the line – “
„Riker, save it, okay?“
When the phone ceased to ring, he looked at it, as if a conversation had ended abruptly, with no satisfying resolution.
Mallory switched on the answering machine so the ringing would not disturb her again.
„Did you leave the guy a note?“
„No!“ Mallory’s eyes were fixed on the computer screen. Her face was masklike as she merged with her machine.
Realizing that he did not exist anymore, not for her, Riker quietly let himself out.
An hour had passed before Mallory looked up from the computer screen. Where she had been all that time, she did not know. Her internal clock had failed her again. This was happening more often. Perhaps it was only an effect of Emile St. John’s wine.
She had finished cannibalizing files from a computer game of sudden death by joystick. It contained all the lines of programming to fire the onscreen crossbows.
The phone rang twice, and then she listened to Charles’s voice on the answering machine. „Mallory? Are you there?“
Not really. She was intent on the screen where her creation came alive, numbers and symbols translating into an image that revolved in space like a three-dimensional object, showing her all its sides, then upending itself to expose the base. She switched on the projector at the other end of a flat feed cable. Now the image was cast on the wall. The platform continued to turn in slow revolutions.
„Mallory, please pick up if you’re there,“ said the disembodied voice on the phone.
She tapped the keys to make the staircase wall transparent, disclosing the interior mechanisms of the lazy tongs and the levers.
„I’ll change all the locks,“ said Charles.
She diddled the keys again and again. One trapdoor dropped down into the platform. The lazy tongs slowly emerged, opening the metal arms, spreading them wide to support the cape.
„Will you call me back?“ There was not much hope in Charles’s request. „You are planning to explain this, right?“
Wrong. Mallory fired off four animated crossbows. One by one, they hit the target. And now she extended the time between the shots.
„We should talk.“ Charles was showing some wear in his voice. „This is – well, it’s cold.“
You think I’m a monster.
„No, I didn’t mean it that way,“ said Charles, as if he could hear her thoughts. „When I walked into that empty office – I was so surprised.“
She set off another round of graphic arrows.
„Goodbye, Mallory.“
The high-tech toy was boring her. Charles had been right about one thing. A simple escape routine was too simplistic for a Max Candle illusion. Where was the magic? The collapsing cape was only a taste, a teaser.
„Of course, I didn’t mean goodbye in any permanent sense,“ said the persistent voice on her machine.
Where was the magic?
„I only meant goodbye for now.“ Charles paused. „So – “
There must be more to it. She killed the platform animation and cued up the tape of Oliver’s murder. The old man was back on the wall, dying again.
„So, you’ll call?“
Yeah, sure.
Max Candle always died. He was not supposed to escape all the arrows.
„Goodbye,“ said Charles.
But all the crossbows had fired, and there was not a fake arrow in the pack.
„For now,“ Charles amended himself.
She stared at the wall where Oliver was being shot to death. If the trick was incomplete, how could Malakhai know it was botched?
Another hour had been lost inside the machine, perfecting her own illusion. The door buzzer called her out of a trance of codes and numbers.
Charles? It had to be. Frank the doorman liked him. On her last birthday, he had allowed Charles into the building unannounced, so she could be surprised with flowers. And of course there had been a generous tip. Had she punished the doorman for that? No, it must have slipped her mind.
Five minutes later, the incessant buzz was getting on her nerves, and she really wanted to hurt Frank for failing to announce a visitor. She left the den and walked down the hallway, irate and laying plans to verbally gut the doorman so this would never happen again. But right this minute, she was going to cut Charles dead with a few terse remarks so she could get back to work.
When Mallory opened the door, Rabbi Kaplan was standing in the corridor. Oh, fine. Now what would she do with all this excess adrenaline?
„It’s late,“ said the rabbi. „I won’t come in. This shouldn’t take very long.“
His face was not committed to any particular expression, and she had no idea how much trouble she might be in.
„It’s about what happened yesterday,“ he said. „Mr. Halpern tells me you took time out of your busy day to yell at his only son.“
The rabbi’s hand went up to silence her before she could interrupt. „I understand you accused the poor man of parental abuse. When the son came home that night, Mr. Halpern spent hours reassuring him, telling him he was not really a – what did you call him? A heartless little bastard.“
„I didn’t – “
„Excuse me, Kathy. Was I finished talking? I don’t think so.“
He smiled, and now Mallory was on guard.
„Well, the son fired his own father.“ Rabbi Kaplan undid the latches on his briefcase. „Mr. Halpern wanted you to know that he had finally retired. That’s all, Kathy.“
No way.
The rabbi was only lulling her into a false idea of escape. He would follow up with a killer punch line. Once, he had been wickedly good at this game. Now he was becoming predictable.
„I’m not buying it, Rabbi. You could’ve phoned in that lecture.“
„But not this.“ He extracted a small, flat package from his briefcase and looked down at it for a moment. „It seems that no one ever apologized to Mr. Halpern for the inconvenience of being put in a concentration camp – for the murders of his parents, his entire family. He was charmed by your apology for the paint gun man.“ Rabbi Kaplan held out the package. „This is a gift for you. He worked on it all day.“