And then the screaming stopped – Mallory’s and Franny’s.
The pendulum continued to swing in silence, to cut the flesh and break the bones, not knowing or caring that the man was dead. The blood was lessening, trickling only, with no more coming to fuel the spillage.
The dead did not bleed.
Malakhai released her. „And now you’ve been to war, Mallory. Wasn’t it sublime?“
The music ended, the dancing stopped – all silent now as the caped chorus boys and the two men in suits slowly approached the coffin.
Mallory sank down to the floor. Though spent and drained, she would not let go of the rage. She beat one clenched hand on the floorboards until the pain flooded her eyes with tears.
Malakhai knelt down beside her, and Mallory turned her face away to hide it.
„You’re a fraud.“ He caressed her hair gently. „You have more compassion than those people out there with blood on their faces – the ones who only watched.“
She shot out one fist.
He was faster, catching her balled hand and engulfing it in his own. „Of course, you did try to kill me. No one can ever take that away from you. And I do think you’re ruthless – if that’s a consolation.“ He stood up slowly, releasing the uncurling fingers of her fist, which had lost its power. „But, Mallory, we can’t all be monsters. As I said – you don’t have the makings.“
Head bowed, she drew up her legs very close to her body and listened to his footsteps leaving her, then the closing of a door. Over the babble of the audience, she heard the sirens wailing on Broadway, coming closer by the second, louder now, almost there. Mallory closed her eyes and hugged her knees, rocking, rocking, shell-shocked and wounded by her minute in the war.
Chapter 22
Even at this distance from the stage, the air was dank and clammy – all that blood. And there was a stink of defecation and the dead man’s dinner, undigested before he was cut in two.
Detective Riker had arrived to find Mallory leaning into the glass coffin. She had allowed him to wash the blood off her hands, but pushed him away when he made a mess of her cashmere blazer, smearing and spreading the red stains with wet paper towels.
Now she sat at a desk near the stage door. A lamp cast her rigid shadow on a nearby wall of message boxes. She seemed unaware of the odors and the heavy traffic of patrolmen and detectives, the medical examiner’s investigators and the district attorney’s man. Her eyes were blind to everything in the immediate world.
Riker knew she was replaying Franny Futura’s death in her mind, repeating the images over and over, hunting for the imperfections in her work.
And that must stop.
He accepted a paper cup from a stagehand and gave the man five dollars for his trouble. Mallory eyed the container with mild suspicion, and Riker took that as a sign that she was feeling more herself.
He placed the cup in her hand. „It’s water.“
She took one sip. „It’s not.“
„Oh, that’s the booze you’re tasting. But there’s water in there, too. Drink it all down, kid. You need the vitamins.“ Riker thought she might also need a blood transfusion. He glanced toward the stage where two men were lifting the body from the coffin. When he turned back to his partner, her paper cup was drained, and she was crumpling it in a tight fist. Another good sign.
„They suckered me, Riker.“
This was true, and they would probably get away with it, but he would never throw that up to her. He pulled out his notebook. „The first cop on the scene took statements from the old guy’s assistants. They all thought the voice in the coffin was a microphone.“
She nodded. „A two-way feed. The sound equipment is in the back room. It worked like an intercom with a stuck button.“
„These magicians all swear they saw Futura leave the coffin before the pendulum dropped. How could – “
„They’re not magicians,“ said Mallory. „Just a pack of chorus boys. What they saw was a man in a red cape. That was Malakhai. He ducked under the coffin drapes and came out again on cue. The boys were so busy dancing their little brains out, none of them noticed that Malakhai was taller.“ Her face lifted, and she was staring at the suspension bridge overhead. „I would’ve caught that if I hadn’t been up there on the catwalk.“
„Don’t beat yourself up.“ He held out a copy of Faustine’s rod with a single key plug screwed into the end. „Look familiar? We found this near the body. It looks like Futura dropped it before he could unlock his cuffs.“
She only glanced at it. „That’s probably Malakhai’s key. Franny didn’t plan to use real handcuffs. Malakhai switched the breakaways for real ones. That’s how he killed the old man.“
„So then Malakhai plan ted a key? Pretty slick. We’ll never prove murder.“
„I never saw Malakhai go on stage, never saw him duck under the table. Prado’s job was misdirection. If I can’t nail him for Oliver’s murder, I’ll get him on conspiracy for this one.“
„I don’t think so, kid. Malakhai did the hands-on murder. There’s nothing to tie Prado to conspiracy.“ Riker pulled up a wooden chair next to hers and straddled it, resting his folded arms across the back. „We can’t even make a case for motive.“
„I should’ve shot Malakhai on sight,“ said Mallory. „And I knew that. Another mistake.“
Riker looked over his shoulder to see Jack Coffey walking toward them with a damp raincoat slung over his shoulder. Had the lieutenant heard that last remark?
Coffey stopped in front of the desk. He wore his bad-news face as he looked down at Mallory. „I just finished with Prado. He claims you contributed to the accidental death of Futura. He says you actually prevented him from assisting the – “
„Prado engineered that homicide,“ said Mallory. „The act didn’t need any help. It worked just fine. Franny Futura is really, really dead.“
Riker put one hand on her shoulder to keep her from leaving the chair. „Easy, kid. Nobody believes it’s an accident. But Prado just killed the case. The newspapers will say it was your fault. Then they’ll crucify the whole department.“
Coffey sat on the edge of the desk. „Prado says he isn’t going to put that version in his formal statement. When he told me that, it had the smell of a deal. I’m taking your side on this, Mallory, but we can’t arrest either one of them. They both walk away.“
Mallory’s voice was too calm. „Did you take a close look at what they did? That didn’t make you sick?“
Riker was staring at her hands, folded tightly over one another to hide the slight tremor. This was not a symptom of frayed nerves, but a warning sign that she was close to losing her temper, her judgment and her job. She was containing the anger, but how long would that last?
Lieutenant Coffey nodded toward a man standing near the ladder of the suspension bridge. He was in his late twenties with a dark raincoat and a pasty-white face. „That’s Crane. He’s an assistant DA and a real jerk. But he’s the man on this one, and he says it’s a flat no. The DA’s office won’t even look at the case.“
Crane joined the small party of three, but stood a pronounced distance from Coffey. The man looked down at Mallory, as if from some lofty height. And Riker gathered that this was supposed to put the detective in her place.
But she was making her own assessments, openly appraising the lawyer’s cheap raincoat commensurate with the starting salary of an ADA. Even Riker could see that the sleeves were miles too long. Mallory’s tailor would have spat on that coat.
The man’s voice was an annoying nasal whine. „I understand all of Max Candle’s illusions were dangerous. And these people you’re accusing? Decorated war heroes, both of them. Their character reference is Emile St. John, a former bureau chief for Interpol.“ The assistant district attorney placed both hands on the desk and leaned entirely too close to Mallory. „You screwed up royally, Detective. If anyone sues the city for your part in this death, I’m going to throw – “