„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.“
He folded his arms; his smile was patronizing.
She held up a fax from the British War Office, then set it down on the table in front of him. „After she died, you became a soldier – licensed murder. Did Louisa give you a taste for it? What a rush. Didn’t you love the war?“ She tapped the sheet. „You have to kill a lot of people to get this many medals. Between you and Malakhai, you must have wiped out a whole city.“
„You were born too late, Mallory. It’s a rare woman who would appreciate – “
„I’m betting Futura’s still alive. You can’t afford one more accidental death. So you just took him out of the loop for a while. You knew I’d break him down. And St. John? That little accident with the hangman’s noose was entirely too convenient.“
„You think I tried to murder him?“
„No, that was St. John’s idea – and not the first time he staged an accident. I know he had a part in Louisa’s murder. Oliver betrayed her to the Germans. That was his job the night she died. Timing was critical. If he brought them to the theater too soon, they would’ve arrested Louisa on sight. Their entrance had to be timed to witness her accident on the stage. You should’ve given the informant’s job to Futura. He would’ve been my choice.“
Prado shook his head slowly and smiled. „Franny would’ve wet his pants if he had to talk to a German soldier.“
She leaned forward. „That’s why I would’ve picked him. He would’ve been so believable as an informer.“ And then, as if she were generously excusing the clumsiness of a child, she said. „But then, I’m the pro and you’re the amateur.“
„You’re an interesting young woman.“ He waved his hand in concession. „All right, a bit of miscasting. But Oliver – “
„Miscasting? Everyone tells me Oliver’s timing was bad. Giving him that job was a major screwup on your part. But you lucked out. That night he got the timing right. Then, you needed a doctor to pronounce Louisa dead. That was Futura.“
„Franny was born with worry lines in his face. It aged him quite a bit. No screwing around with stage makeup.“
„And you needed a French policeman on the scene, so he could take over the accident report. That was where Emile’s day job paid off. And the last player was you. You were the one who carried her into the back room. And then you murdered her.“
„How clever, but – “
„I hope you’re not talking about yourself, Prado. It was an incredibly stupid plot. So many holes in it. Too many people involved. Just the sort of thing a brainless teenage boy would come up with.“
His smile was faltering, but she still had more chipping to do before he caved in. St. John had only given her the bare bones of the night Louisa died, refusing to call it murder.
„And no one told Louisa what you were planning. That was your idea. You wanted authenticity, real blood, real surprise. All those combat soldiers in the audience that night. You couldn’t afford a bad acting job.“
He said nothing to contradict her, and he seemed pleased that she had appreciated this fine point of his plot.
„That was another screwup, Prado.“ Well, that jarred him a little. A chip here, a chip there. „It was a trademark you held on to. You used it again the day of the parade. Charles didn’t know the crossbow stunt was staged. And that was your idea. He was an amateur performer, and you needed authentic surprise.“
Prado glanced at the mirror.
Looking for solace in his own reflection? No, she guessed he was not able to shake the idea that someone was standing on the other side of the glass. He was smiling for whomever he imagined there.
Mallory rapped the table to call him back to her. „So the Germans showed up to arrest Louisa. And there’s Malakhai on the stage. He’s wearing the uniform of an SS officer and aiming a crossbow at a defenseless woman.“
Mallory opened a folder and pulled out five sheets of Polish text. This was the contribution of a patrolman named Wojcick, who could not read Polish but thought this might be his grandfather’s will. Another donation to the cause was the aged photograph clipped to the first page. Though the subject was of German descent, he bore a slight resemblance to Mr. Halpern’s portrait of Louisa Malakhai, and that was why she had selected his snapshot from Detective Riker’s family album.
Mallory held up the sheets so Prado could see them. Even on the off chance that Polish was a second language, she knew he would not be able to read a single word. She had found the bifocals when she picked his pockets at Oliver’s wake. He would never wear that pair of glasses in front of a woman and admit to a weakness of aging eyes.
She tapped the photograph. „Louisa’s father died in custody. He never gave up any names. That’s why the Germans wanted his daughter so badly.“
No reaction from Prado. He knew no more than she did. So it was true Malakhai had never told anyone about Louisa’s history.
„There was a bounty on Louisa and wanted posters with her photograph. No exit visas were being issued, so your forgeries would’ve gotten her arrested at the border. All the papers were being cross-checked by phone and cablegrams. There was no way out. She had to be declared dead. Then she’d only have to stay in hiding till the Spanish frontier was open again. Isn’t that how you sold the plot to Malakhai and the rest of them?“
„No flaws in your logic. Not bad for an hour’s work, wouldn’t you say? That’s all the time I had before the show.“
„Not bad?“ She almost laughed out loud. And people said she had no sense of humor. „A chimpanzee could’ve come up with a better plan. So how did you convince the rest of them it could possibly work? Maybe you showed them the death certificate with the signature of a doctor.“
Mallory pulled out another sheet, a document in French. But she concealed this one quickly, sliding it back into the folder, because it was a Haitian policewoman’s baptismal certificate with a heading of very large type. „Bad job, Prado. Anybody can tell it’s not the same handwriting as the real doctor.“
„Everybody’s a critic. Let me remind you that no one has questioned that document in more than fifty years.“
Mallory went on: „Emile carried it off pretty well. But then he looked more German than the Germans did. They were happy to leave it in his lap – after he convinced them that he didn’t plan to trace the runaway SS officer. Obviously an accidental death, a magic trick gone wrong. The Germans liked that, didn’t they? So neat, so efficient. And risk-free – because you had an authentically dead body to show them. That was your part.“
„You’ll never prove that, Mallory.“
„If she’d been captured, she would’ve told them everything she knew. Most people did.“
She tidied her stack of folders. „I have all this physical evidence. Juries love things they can hold in their hands. If you save the taxpayers the cost of a trial, you can avoid a death sentence – again. This is a onetime offer. It’s today or – “
„I’ll take my chances in court. Side bet? I say you can’t get a grand jury to indict me.“
„You’re a prosecutor’s dream. French or American, those bastards are all political animals. Careers are made on cases like this one. It’s a murder with a little something for everybody, war, romance, betr
ayal – it’ll make great press. But I can’t give you to the French. They might not send you back to die for Oliver’s murder in New York.“
„Last chance, Prado.“ She waved another folder for her finale. „More evidence. But I don’t have to show this one to your lawyer until I’ve got the indictment.“
It contained the mayor’s new guidelines for ticketing citizens who did not wash their tin foil before they recycled it with their bottles and cans. She stacked it neatly in her pile of useless paperwork. „Malakhai missed his shot that day at the parade. But I’m pretty sure he still wants you dead. I could give you protection.“
„I don’t need your protection, thank you.“
„But you’re doing the hangman routine – stoned on drugs. Now there’s a murder in the making.“
She held up a slip of paper with a doctor’s name and address printed across the top. „Recognize it?“ This was the sedative prescription she had taken from his pocket the night of Oliver’s wake. „There’s already been one accident with the hangman illusion. And you’re going to be stoned out of your mind for that performance. There’s no other way you can stand on that gallows and watch it collapse. That’s what happens, isn’t it? The gallows will fold, and you’ll be swinging thirteen steps off the ground with a rope around your neck. It’s already failed once. Are you sure it’s not a setup? Are you very sure you don’t need my protection?“
He was pulling himself together, rebuilding his facade. And now she could see that something had just occurred to him. He was smiling again, self-possessed and confident.
„Malakhai is a killer. You got that much right.“ Prado picked up the flyer for Carnegie Hall and waved it in the air like a small flag. „So here’s something else to think about. Charles isn’t handsome like his cousin. But I promise you that every time Malakhai looks at him, he sees Max Candle’s face.“
„So? Max and Malakhai were friends.“
„Were they?“ Prado turned to the mirror and fiddled with the knot of his tie. „Malakhai spent years torturing his old friend with the Louisa illusion. He brought his dead wife into Max’s home and sat her down at the man’s dinner table. Max was very much in love with Louisa. He took her death very hard. And then, there she was, back from the grave and sitting right beside him at the table. Interesting? And then there’s Charles. Max loved his little cousin like a son. Did you know that? It’s a pity you never worked out the Lost Illusion, just to be on the safe side. When Charles performs at Carnegie Hall, he shouldn’t be taking any help from Malakhai.“
„Malakhai would never hurt him.“
„Are you willing to bet Charles’s life on that?“ Prado glanced at the mirror before he sat down again. „Hours before Louisa died, I dropped by Oliver’s apartment. It was early in the afternoon. Louisa and Malakhai had the room upstairs. We could hear them up there, going at it like animals. They rocked the bed on its feet and made it dance all the way across the ceiling. Poor Oliver turned bright red and pretended it wasn’t happening. So provincial. What an American he was. But it wasn’t Louisa’s husband in that bed with her. You see, Malakhai walked into Oliver’s room while the bed was still dancing upstairs. Oh, the look on his face when he stared at that ceiling. He was devastated. No – he was destroyed.“ Prado leaned across the table, smiling. „Are you quite sure Malakhai didn’t mean to kill his wife that same night?“
„You’re lying. Max and Louisa told him about the affair. That’s how he found out.“
„Is that what Malakhai said? Well, maybe they did confess. But I promise you, Mallory, that dancing bed was the first he knew about the affair. Don’t let Charles – “
„He won’t hurt Charles.“
„No? Don’t you wonder why Malakhai wouldn’t help you work out the Lost Illusion? How long do you think he’s been planning to share his stage with Max’s cousin?“ He spoke to her, but he played to his imagined audience in the mirror. „Well, maybe Charles will survive. You never know.“ He picked up his hat. „You’ll excuse me? I have to rehearse Emile’s routine. I may need to hang myself ten times. Practice makes perfect.“
„Dangerous trick, Prado. And strung out on drugs? Maybe when St. John bowed out, he was helping Malakhai set you up for the kill.“
„What of it? I know you’ll be there tomorrow night – watching my back. You can make my finale after Malakhai’s act. But you’ll have to hurry, Mallory. Timing is everything.“
He waved one hand in the air, still performing for the watchers he believed were behind the mirror. And now he was unlocking the catch on the doorknob.
„Prado!“ She rose from the chair and leaned over to press her hands flat on the table, allowing her blazer to open and show him the gun. „If Franny Futura turns up dead, I’m going to kill you. And it won’t be a bullet – not a quick death. You’ll never guess the day I come for you. It might be a month or a year. I’m real patient that way.“
Now that should assure him that there was no one behind the looking glass.
Jack Coffey sat alone in the dark room behind the mirror. Mallory’s interview was done, and he knew he should leave now. Yet he remained in his seat, watching her through the one-way glass as she sat down and covered her face with both hands.
He was past the point of a supervisor overseeing a case. This was borderline voyeurism. Coffey shifted in his front-row chair, so like a theater seat. Though he knew he was alone, he turned to check the elevated row of stationary chairs behind him.
But why should he feel guilty? Mallory was the one who just made a death threat against a suspect. Maybe she had only intended to rattle Prado. But then Coffey had to wonder if he should believe every word. He hoped Prado had believed her. It might keep Futura alive awhile longer.
Every good instinct told him to take Mallory off the case. But who else could have done so much with damn little help? Riker’s evaluation had been correct. Inspector Markowitz had been the best of cops in his prime, but his child was better.
She was also dangerous.
Coffey wondered what Mallory was thinking, sitting there still as death. He wished he could see her face.
As if responding to this thought, her hands fell away, and she slowly turned her head toward the one-way glass. Hers was not the vague, roaming glance of Nick Prado, who had only suspected a watcher. Mallory was staring into his eyes. Coffey took little comfort in the knowledge that she could not see through the mirror. This was only her paranoia tuned to a fine instrument for fun and terror. She knew he would take the center chair and where his eyes would be.
What would Lou Markowitz do if he could come back from the dead and see his daughter now? Would he laugh or cry?
As if she were reading his mind, Mallory smiled – just like the old man, a Markowitz smile.
Jack Coffey closed his eyes and continued to sit in the dark after Mallory had abandoned the interview room. He listened to her footsteps in the hall. She stopped at the door and tried the knob. Now he heard her working the lock. He was bracing for the confrontation. He would be caught in the act of a voyeur watching a lone woman in the interview room.
The door opened by only an inch. Mallory never looked inside.
What for? She already knew he was there.
Her footsteps continued down the hall. Was she laughing? Or was that Markowitz?
A newspaper lay on the floor, headlines screaming about the hanging of Emile St. John. Franny Futura lay back on the pillows. He had not left his bed since the maid brought him the morning paper. The woman had accepted a cheap ring as payment, for he had no money to bribe her.
He had not changed his clothes since his arrival. The suitcases were in the closet, unopened – a neat stack of symbols for his entire existence, always packed and ready to run.
Franny watched the shadows crawl from one side of the room to the other, slowly edging across the walls, and some crawled along the ceiling. Now that darkness had fallen, the headlights of cars in the parking lot created more diverting dark shapes and jerky flash
es, dashing across the walls to take him by surprise. Every pair of lights announced another visitor to the motel.
Any moment now.
He had lived his entire life rehearsing for a knock on the door. In dreams, it always happened at night. As often as he had imagined the moment, he could never see beyond the point when the door began to open. On the other side, something awaited him.
Another pair of lights splashed one wall, veered sharply onto the next one, then died off to leave him in the dark. His fear was a hulking thing, crafty and cruel. It sat on his chest with real weight, haunches tensing, crouching, set to spring. Franny listened to the opening and closing of a car door. He followed the sound of steps in the parking lot. They passed him by, and he thought to breathe again.
Locks and bars had been unnecessary adjuncts to his jail. He could never leave this motel room. He would miss the curtain for his Broadway show, and he must reconcile himself to that loss.
He sat up on the bed and stared at his reflection in the mirror over the dresser, looking there for the younger Franny from Faustine’s Magic Theater, hiding in the brilliant spotlight of the stage, the only place where he felt truly safe. Even today, if not for his sporadic stage career, he would never leave his rented rooms. But he could not explain this to his agent, who had urged him to retire many years ago.
There was someone behind the door. He was sure of it.
Franny lay back on the pillows, eyes wide with anticipation. He had waited for more than half the century, a million minutes ticking by, building to this moment.
Nick Prado didn’t knock. He let himself in with the key.
Chapter 20
The young man bent over a newspaper, intending to close his eyes for a nap while passing for a serious reader. This time slot was a death sentence of sleep deprivation. But the hotel manager could not see beyond mere appearance, and so the desk clerk was doomed to the graveyard shift until his skin cleared up.
He smelled her perfume first. A gardenia, the flower of high school prom corsages and a sad reminder of the stag line.
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