„Yes, yes!“ The car was nearly rolled on that pass. St. John clung to the armrests to keep his balance. His face showed no overt expression of fear, but he could not control the sweat of his upper lip, the whitening knuckles. Fist-fights were breaking out among the drivers and the people in hotel uniforms, treating St. John to the sight of real blood as the men outside the car were going off like bombs.
Mallory’s voice was almost a whisper. „The informer – was it Franny Futura?“
He only stared at her, as if she were insane to be so calm in the center of this human storm. At any moment it would spill into the car – or they would be dragged out. A bloodied face was slammed into the window by St. John’s head, and he jumped in his skin. It was not fear in his eyes, but pain. This was the flip side of the Maquis, the target’s view of the mob – new insight, fresh hell.
„Was Futura the informer?“
The limousine rocked with renewed violence. The sirens were louder now. The vehicle settled down on all four wheels as two police cars pulled to the curb.
„No, it wasn’t Franny.“ St. John’s head lolled back on the upholstery, eyes fixed on the blood-smeared glass. „Informing on Louisa was Oliver’s job.“
„His job? You all killed Louisa?“
„I liked the other setting much better,“ said Nick Prado. „More atmosphere. That caged drug addict was a priceless prop.“ He stood before the mirror at the far end of the formal interview room, brushing nonexistent lint from his tie as an excuse to be closer to his own reflection. „So, Mallory, what became of your little pet?“
„The junkie?“ She closed the door and locked it. „We shipped him off to a bigger cage, and someone put a shiv in his back. The other cons will tell you all about it when you get there.“
He smiled at the mirror and tapped its surface. „It’s a window, isn’t it? A one-way glass? Are people watching us right now?“
„No, Prado. Whenever you have that uneasy feeling that you’re being watched – that’s usually me.“ Mallory sat down at the table. A theater ticket lay on top of her thick manila folder. A messenger had delivered it to her desk in the squad room of Special Crimes, wrapped in a recently printed publicity flyer.
So Charles Butler was going to perform the Lost Illusion at Carnegie Hall. This tribute to the late Max Candle was scheduled to follow Malakhai’s performance.
And whose idea was that?
Prado pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table and sat down. He reached out to tap the flyer. „I see you’ve heard the news. Brave boy, our Charles. Not too many people are surviving his cousin’s illusions these days.“ There was a swagger in Prado’s voice. His words strutted up and down in inflection.
„Ready to arrest me?“ His face was half a grin, half a leer. He stretched out his hands to be cuffed. „Pity you don’t wear a uniform. In my fantasy – “
„I’m not that far from a warrant. Don’t push your luck.“ She set the ticket and the flyer to one side. „How do you plan to get out of doing Emile’s act – the gallows trick? Thirteen steps to a small rickety stage, right? Given your fear of heights – “
„My what? I don’t know what you mean. I’ve already done one rehearsal this morning. Ask Emile’s assistant.“
No, she could not be wrong about this.
Mallory leaned far forward, the better to see his eyes when she flashed a hand across his face. He never blinked, and the irises were slow to react when the strong light from the window was blocked. She tossed him a pencil, and he fumbled the catch.
„So, how many sedatives did you have to take just to climb the stairs of the gallows?“
His expression of pure hate only lasted a moment.
Mallory lowered her eyes to the stack of folders. „All right, Prado, let’s talk about the homicide of Oliver Tree.“ She didn’t look at him as she riffled the sheets of the first folder. „You’re the only one who knew how he was planning to do that trick.“
„I see you’re still obsessed with the Lost Illusion.“
„Not anymore. Oliver gave away every trick he worked out – gifts to his old friends.“ She pulled out a small notebook and flipped back the pages. „Thanksgiving at Charles’s place.“ She looked up at Prado. „You said you got your props and instructions months ago. But you’re the only one who didn’t plan to perform in the magic festival.“
„I’m doing all the publicity. It’s very time-consuming.“
„No, you were the one who got the solution for the Lost Illusion. Originally, Oliver never intended to perform that trick in public. I think he knew his shortcomings. He had a lot of respect for the rest of you – the real magicians. The post loops were set too high for a man his size. He made the platform for a taller man, someone Max Candle’s size – your size.“
She uncovered what she had been searching for. The material was pressed between the sheets of paper. „Oliver invited you to share the bill with Franny Futura. But you turned him down. You convinced him to perform the trick himself – a publicity stunt to kick off the festival.“
„How did you arrive at that?“ There was nothing in his face to tell her if she had guessed right.
„Oliver’s will didn’t mention the platform. I always had a problem with that. Then I realized he’d already given it away – to you. Now that’s important, nailing down premeditation. You brought the cuff key to the park. You shined it up to look like new.“ She tossed the green velvet key bag on the table. It was encased in a plastic cover with the attendant paperwork of evidence. „You substituted the bags. This one is yours. It’s the one I took off Oliver’s body.“
Actually, it was the one taken from Charles’s tool chest.
Prado looked down at the velvet bag with mild curiosity. „All of Faustine’s apprentices had those bags.“
Mallory bent over her notebook. „So you’re admitting that you had the green bag.“ This was not a question, and she gave him no time to contradict her. „You don’t mind contributing a blood sample, do you? I need it for the DNA tests. I also need the suit you were wearing that day in Central Park. I have to match it to the clothing fibers on the bag.“ Fat chance Lieutenant Coffey would give her one more dime for a forensic test.
Mallory looked up at him with a show of surprise that was not intended to fool a half-bright ten-year-old. „No? You don’t want to cooperate? Well, after I charge you, the best criminal lawyer in town can’t stop me from draining off a little blood.“
She turned her attention back to the pages of her folder. „Now Louisa’s death was more involved. I underestimated you, Prado.“
„Thank you. And may I return the compliment? You’re beginning to think like a magician.“
„No, thinking like a magician is a waste of time. It was harder to get into the mind-set of a ditsy teenage boy – but more productive. The plot to kill Louisa was all you, Prado. Gross stupidity. Too complicated – too much flash. It’s like you hung a neon sign on her corpse. I don’t know how you survived as a juvenile delinquent in Paris. Now that was impressive.“
„I prefer faint praise, Mallory.“
„I caught so many screwups, the jury is gonna laugh till they cry.“
„Enough compliments. I’m blushing.“
„If Louisa hadn’t died that night, the French police would’ve laughed their tails off. And then they would’ve rounded up all of you. Futura would’ve cracked first. He was always going to be a problem. Is he dead yet?“
„And what evidence – “
„Louisa knew about your little forgery business.“ She held up the old passport. „Irrefutable evidence of motive. Futura and St. John were in the Resistance. Looks like she had something on all of you, even Oliver. He gave shelter to an escaped prisoner. None of you could afford to let the Germans get her back. That’s how you got the rest of them to cooperate in staging the murder of Louisa Malakhai.“