Perhaps he wasn’t being deadpan this time. No, he was mildly pissed off.
„You took a risk with the first shot, Charles. Suppose it went wrong? Maybe another broken pedestal spring? You could’ve been killed.“
This worked rather well. Now he seemed pleased that he had impressed her with something.
„But the cops did the loading for Oliver,“ she said. „And they cocked the bows. All the strings released – no jam-up, no dry firing.“
„You’re right. A dry firing wouldn’t figure in that routine.“ He turned back to look at the target. „Now for this one, the wires and loops are an advance setup for bad light on a deep stage. You couldn’t do this sort of thing in broad daylight.“
Another wasted morning. „So Oliver just borrowed from other illusions.“
„But I know he got a lot of things right. Max used police officers for every manacle act. Otherwise the audience wouldn’t believe the handcuffs were real. Since the police were there, they had to inspect the crossbows too. Would’ve seemed odd if they didn’t. And Max – “
„He liked authenticity. Right.“ Mallory climbed the staircase and sat down on the top step beside Charles. „What kind of an act did Emile St. John do?“
„Birds were the focal point. It was a wonderful pickpocket routine. He’d take your wallet and make a parakeet fly out of your pants. Of course, they all did pickpocket routines. In the old days, that kind of skill was a staple of magic.“
„No weapons in St. John’s routine?“
„Never. I told you, the trick shot was Nick’s act. I remember my cousin saying that Emile hated the sight of firearms.“
But St. John had racked up many years with the French police and Interpol; weapons went with the trade. „Charles, that doesn’t make sense, not with his history. He never told you what he did?“
„You mean during the war? You knew about that?“ There was more to Charles’s expression than mere surprise; there were traces of guilt. „He actually told you?“
She nodded in a silent lie. „I’ve been listening to a lot of war stories.“ At least that part was true.
He turned his face down to look at the crumpled cape and the fake blood splatters. „I always had the impression that it was a secret thing. But I was only a child when I heard the story. Such a long time ago. It gave me nightmares for months. You shouldn’t think badly of Emile – for what he did.“ He gathered up the red material. „Considering the context of war.“
Mallory kept very still, not wanting to spook him with an obvious prompt. She simply left the opening in the air between them and waited for him to fill it with secret things.
„I only heard it mentioned once,“ said Charles. „Emile probably thought I was asleep when he told the story to Max.“ He wadded the cape into a tight ball. „After the liberation of Paris, Emile was on a Maquis firing squad. But you must understand, there were lots of trials in that period – hasty justice for collaborators.“
„Emile St. John was an executioner?“
Mallory stepped out of the cab on 56th Street, near the less glamorous back door to Carnegie Hall. The arched windows were grated with iron, and the overhang with its gold lettering was only a small seedy reminder of the grandeur on the other side of the block. She passed between parked delivery trucks and walked around the Dumpster on the sidewalk.
The tan doors of the stage entrance were open. Nick Prado was leading an entourage to a place on the sidewalk just beyond the shadow of the overhang, and there he stopped to pose for photographs.
„Hey, Mallory!“ Shorty Ross was the last one out the door. He rolled toward her in his wheelchair.
This reporter was strictly cophouse press – not here for publicity blurbs on the magic festival. Ross must smell blood.
„I hear you’re back on the job, Mallory.“
„Yeah, Shorty, that’s today’s rumor.“ As a twelve-year-old girl, she had first met him on a rainy day at Special Crimes. He had done a brief tour of midget duty as a favor to Inspector Markowitz, passing the hour by telling Kathy war stories of Vietnam. And then he had rolled up his pants in response to a child’s rude curiosity about his missing limbs and the prostheses strapped on below his knees. The fake legs had been interesting, though not entirely satisfying, not quite – enough. But he had refused to remove his stump socks, claiming that he never got naked on a first date.
„We can’t find Franny Futura,“ said Shorty. „And somebody else checked the guy out of his hotel.“
„Really? Mr. Prado might know where he is.“
„You wouldn’t hold out on me, would you, kid?“
Mallory smiled. They knew each other too well. Now she waited on Shorty’s habitual offer to play the whore and show her his naked stumps in exchange for information.
The photographers abandoned Nick Prado to snap pictures of the famous cop who did not actually shoot a giant puppy – but what the hell. And now the reporters joined the jam, and Shorty Ross’s wheelchair was locked out of the fray. Prado appeared by her side and draped one arm across her shoulders. She spoke only with her eyes, explaining that he should move his arm, and right now, or she would hurt him.
The arm fell away.
„You don’t mind posing for a few publicity shots, do you?“ Prado faced the cameras. „It’s so hard to get people to turn out for the older acts, anything low-tech. But sex sells.“
Flashing strobes were in her eyes. Prado was smiling. Mallory was not. She leaned closer, so the reporters wouldn’t hear her. „Where’s Franny Futura? Is he dead yet?“
He never stopped smiling, nor did he move his lips when he said, „Have you looked under the bed in his hotel room? That would be my guess.“
The mob was pressing up against them, shouting questions and aiming microphones like gun barrels. A woman in the back yelled out in pain, and Mallory heard Shorty Ross saying, „Oh, I’m sorry. Was that your foot?“ Other reporters near the front of the crowd had already earned their wheelchair scars, and now they stepped aside, allowing him to roll up to Mallory’s legs. „Detective, what do you know about the disappearance of Franny Futura?“
„No comment.“ She glanced at Prado – her turn to smile. She could also speak without moving her lips. „Is this another sleazy publicity stunt?“
„You recognized my style. I’m flattered.“
„Maybe you frightened him, Prado.“ Her voice was louder now. „Maybe hiding out was Futura’s idea.“
Shorty had heard that. „The guy’s in hiding?“ And this set off another barrage of shouted questions.
Mallory leaned toward Prado, keeping her voice below the level of the noise. „Smart move. You knew I’d break him in five minutes.“
Prado’s smile lapsed for a moment. „You just have to nail somebody for that balloon shooting, don’t you? Well, Franny was on the float, in plain view when the big puppy went down.“
„But he had a good view of the rocky knoll.“
The reporters had fallen silent. They were straining their eyes in the art of lipreading.
„You weren’t there, Prado. No alibi for the time.“ Now she was speaking loud enough for all to hear, and Shorty Ross gave her a thumbs-up gesture of thanks.
„Richard Tree didn’t fire that arrow at Futura,“ said Mallory – and that much was true. „Maybe it came from another bow.“ In peripheral vision, she could see pens and pencils writing down this lie verbatim. Other reporters held out tape recorders as she said, „And you don’t have an alibi for the rifle shot either.“
In a bid for Mallory’s attention, Shorty Ross nudged her legs with his chair. Then he wheeled back quickly, knowing that she was not above swatting a legless war veteran. „Detective? Is there a new conspiracy angle here?“
Prado planted himself in front of the reporter’s wheelchair. „Ladies and gentlemen – a few moments, please?“ He drew Mallory back to the wall, saying, „This is great stuff, but I think you’re making it too complex.“ The wave of his hand took in the whole crowd of reporters. „They need something short – headline material.“