Carol O’Connell - Shell Game

„Oliver didn’t use curtains or a lamp.“

„Mallory, let’s put the whole thing together. Then you can eliminate the pieces you don’t like.“

Riker bent over an open crate and pulled out a crossbow. A thick band of strings dangled loose. The handle and trigger were shaped like a gun. Instead of a hammer to cock it, a long curving piece of metal extended out from the pistol grip. „Hey, Charles?“ Riker pointed to the narrow box of wood on top of the shaft. „A magazine?“

„Yes, it’s a repeater.“ Charles came down the steps, two at a time. „The magazine holds a load of three arrows.“ He took the weapon from Riker. „It needs a cleaning and some oil. A dry firing might wreck it.“ He carried it back to the platform and fitted the pistol grip into a receiving well at the top of the clockwork pedestal. Now it was aiming up toward the oval target. „Mallory, don’t ever fool with this if you’re down here alone. It’s dangerous.“

„Yeah, right.“

„I told you, it killed someone.“

Riker looked up from his perusal of another crate. „Someone besides Oliver Tree?“

„Yes, another casualty,“ said Charles. „Max was trying out the act in a small town. Two local boys snuck backstage after the performance. One of them claimed he could do the trick. A bet was made, and the boy died – only seventeen years old.“

„So the trick was always dangerous.“ Riker looked at Mallory to say, I told you so. And then his eyes traveled over all the open crates and mechanisms. „Pretty big production for one lousy trick.“

„Oh, no,“ said Charles. „This platform worked for quite a number of illusions. The crates have props for at least twelve different tricks. It’s going to take a while to sort it out.“

Mallory stood next to one of the pedestals of large brass circles with squared-off teeth. This one was not yet topped with a crossbow. A metal peg fell from a hole near the edge of the top gear.

„I’ll fix that.“ Charles picked up the peg and slipped it back into place. „There should be a red flag on the peg. That’s so the audience can follow it around the gear. When the peg gets to the top, it hits the trigger of the crossbow. Oliver missed that detail – no flags.“

Riker nodded. „Makes you wonder what else the old guy missed.“

Charles wound up a key in the side of the pedestal, then depressed a button near the top. The brass wheels began to move with a grinding noise. „Everything needs oil.“

He bent down to the toolbox and picked up an aerosol can. After a quick spray of machine oil, the gears revolved with the slow steady tick of a loud clock. Mallory watched the peg climb to the top of its orbit where the next crossbow would be installed. She looked at the remaining weapons in the crate at her feet. „They all fire?“

„Hopefully,“ said Charles. „No fakes if that’s what you mean. But we can’t shoot with them today. They need a good cleaning and new strings.“

Riker sat on the bottom step of the platform and looked up at Mallory. „So you figure one of those old guys for a suspect?“

The clockwork gears were still moving. Tick, tick, tick -

„They were at the Central Park magic show, and the parade too.“

„So was Charles,“ said Riker, smiling.

– tick, tick -

„Charles is excused.“ But Riker was not.

„Okay, Mallory.“ His tone was entirely too condescending. „Now what about the gunman in the crowd, the balloon killer?“

– tick -

Mallory turned on her partner. „What do you care, Riker? You and the lieutenant think I lied about that shooting. That’s why Coffey won’t let me do the interviews. And you don’t even bother to tag the evidence.“

– tick, tick, tick, tick -

For a large man, Charles Butler could move with surprising stealth. He was melting away, slipping back inside the platform, where the atmosphere was less disturbing and possibly safer.

„Hold on, Mallory.“ Riker rose to a stand. „You’re way out of line.“

– tick, tick, tick -

Her own voice was devoid of inflection. „I was a fool to tell you I shot that rat. You handed Coffey ammunition for his nutcase lecture. Did you guys practice that routine?“ Her hands were rising, and his eyes got a little wider. Maybe he thought she meant to strike him.

– tick, tick -

Arms raised above her head in the prisoner’s posture, she turned her body in a slow revolution to show him that she was not concealing a weapon. „When you report back to Lieutenant Coffey, tell him I’m not wearing a gun today. All the rats can rest easy.“ The implication was clear – she included him among the vermin.

– tick -

Riker was about to say something, but then thought better of it, closing his mouth in a thin tight line. He turned his back on her and rounded the dragon screen, heading for the way out.

She heard the sound of something being kicked out of the way in the darkness beyond the accordion wall. Judging by the crash, Riker’s foot had sent its target a good distance. He rarely lost his temper. And his anger had never been directed at her, no matter how many tests she had devised for him during her childhood and in more recent times.

She had finally found Riker’s trigger.

– tick, tick, tick, tick -

Though Rabbi David Kaplan cut a figure of lean elegance, he didn’t look the part of a gambler, not by his turtleneck sweater or the loaf of bread in his hand. The close-trimmed beard made him too distinguished, and the sweet tranquillity in his eyes belied the fact that he could hold his own in a round of cutthroat poker. In his first act as a good host, the rabbi had confiscated Charles Butler’s necktie, arguing that a man could not concentrate on his game if he did not breathe properly.

The tie was hung on the coatrack alongside Mallory’s holstered revolver. How odd to see that deadly thing in David Kaplan’s house.

At the end of the foyer, Charles glanced into the living room. Its sole occupant was an elderly stranger in a black suit, who had been allowed to keep his necktie. A gray topcoat was folded on the visitor’s lap, and a homburg hung on the hook of one gnarled finger. As the old man rose from the couch, his sad eyes focused on Charles, and he was clearly disappointed, obviously expecting someone else. Slight and frail, he seemed to hover over the carpet, delicate as a dry dead leaf that had not quite settled to ground. His face had the ashen cast of illness, and his eyes were the color of dust.

„That’s Mr. Halpern,“ said the rabbi. „He wants a few words with your friend when he arrives. It’s very important to him. I hope you don’t mind?“

„Not at all.“ Because Mr. Halpern wore a necktie, Charles had already deduced that he was not here to play poker. After the introductions were made, he lingered a moment to give the old man a polite nod. „You’re sure you won’t join us?“

Mr. Halpern made a slight bow with good manners from another age. „Thank you, but I prefer to wait here.“ He held up his hat and coat to show that he would be leaving shortly.

Charles followed the rabbi down the hall and into the den, where he was surrounded by the colors of leather-bound books shelved on every wall. Near the door, a tea cart was laid out with all the ingredients a sandwich maven could ask for. The usual crew had already assembled, and Charles was still overdressed among the sweaters and sweatshirts, jeans and khakis. He removed his suit jacket, unbuttoned his vest and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt.

Dr. Slope was working at the cheese board, his serrated knife flying in the act of creation, slashing yellow slices and white ones. The medical examiner had a good face for poker, a stern composure that could not be cracked by a royal flush. His friends called him Edward. He was not a plausible Ed, not a man that one could comfortably abbreviate. The doctor inclined his head in a greeting to Charles as he piled the cheese on his plate.