Carol O’Connell - Shell Game

Mallory checked her pocket watch. It was close to the time of her meeting with Mr. Halpern. She wondered how long it would take to work through Rabbi Kaplan’s instructions for dealing with an elderly Holocaust survivor. Since she didn’t intend to miss the auction, she also computed the penalties for hurrying the old man’s interview along.

What was the worst thing the rabbi could do to her?

„Riker, did the secretary say anything about Oliver’s nephew? He’s not on the list of bequests.“ And neither was the platform mentioned in this section.

„Yeah, she did.“ He looked down at an open notebook. „Richard Tree is a grandnephew, the grandson of Oliver’s half brother. He’s the old man’s only living relative.“

„But the chief beneficiary is a local hospital.“

„Yeah, Gina says Oliver spent all his Sundays there. He did magic shows for sick kids. So the nephew doesn’t inherit squat, but he has a huge trust fund.“

„So he does benefit.“

„By the death? Not a dime. His trust was activated years ago. The kid has to take a drug test to get his allotment checks. Hasn’t passed one yet. That’s why he took the crossbow job for a hundred bucks. There’s a pile of money in the trust, but he can’t stay clean long enough to collect.“

„With the old man dead, it’s easier to break the trust.“

„Wrong again,“ said Riker. „Oliver didn’t have much use for his nephew, but he didn’t want the kid to die from an overdose of money. So the old man hired the best lawyer in Manhattan to make an unbreakable trust. Oliver’s attorney is the mother of all sharks. Remember that when you meet him. You can’t bullshit this bastard.“

Mallory held up a crisp twenty-dollar bill. Riker nodded, and the bet was made.

„Okay, next interview.“ Riker turned back pages in his notebook. „I talked to the guy who managed Oliver’s company after the old man retired. He says Oliver still did some work on the side. He owned an old theater uptown. The renovation was kind of a hobby. That’s where he built the platform a couple of years ago.“

She drummed her fingers on the ream of paper. „This will is dated eight months ago. So why isn’t the platform mentioned?“

Riker shrugged. „Old guy, bad memory.“

„Maybe he gave it away before he died. Remember the dinner party, Riker? Those gifts to his old friends? One of them got the platform and Oliver’s plans for the Lost Illusion. That man knew how to sabotage the trick.“

„It’s a good theory, but – “

„It gets better. I went over Max Candle’s platform last night. The loops for the handcuffs are set high on the posts. Same position for both platforms.“

„So?“

„The trick was originally designed for a taller man. Max Candle was six feet tall. Oliver was seven inches shorter. Prado and Futura are both about the same – “

Charles returned with a tray of coffee mugs. He set it down on the low table in front of her, and the aroma of cappuccino did not make her nauseous. Riker’s hangover remedy had actually worked. „Thanks, Charles. How bad is the damage on the post? Do I need a carpenter to – “

„The post isn’t broken,“ said Charles, and he appeared to be sorry about that.

„Of course it is,“ she said – she insisted. „I broke it last night.“

„Are you quite sure you broke it?“

„What the hell is that supposed to mean?“ Did he think that she imagined it?

Riker was squinting at Charles. „Would I want to know what this is about? Did I miss a good party?“ He turned to Mallory. „You never take me anywhere.“

„That’s enough,“ said Mallory. „I did shoot the rat, I did not shoot the balloon, I did break the post.“ She hoped they both understood that it would be a big mistake to challenge any of this. „Malakhai must’ve fixed it.“ He had obviously been visiting the cellar while she was sleeping through the alarm this morning.

So it was not the passport he wanted. Malakhai was still searching for something.

The young messenger’s bicycle basket was loaded with packages as he rushed down the mighty artery of Broadway, ignoring the traffic light and aiming his front wheel at a crowd of pedestrians in the crosswalk at 42nd Street. He screamed out a warning to those who were foolish enough to block his way: „No insurance! No insurance!“

Mallory pulled Mr. Halpern back, and the rest of the crowd divided to clear a path for the bicycle. The messenger whizzed through the crush of bodies on either side of him. Jeers and raised fingers suggested that the rider should commit an unnatural sex act upon himself at the first opportunity.

Mr. Halpern shook his head and smiled as he stared at the back of the departing bicyclist. „That’s New York.“ He said this as if it might be a good explanation for a near-death experience. And it probably was.

The night of the poker game, the old man had carried a homburg. Today he wore a deerstalker with fur flaps to protect his ears from the cold. „On my lunch hour, I always take a stroll around Times Square, no matter what the weather. Anything to get out of the office.“

Mallory strained to hear his weak voice. The nervous streets of flashing electronic signs, fast-walking pedestrians and vehicles converged on them from all directions. Broadway merged its cars and tour buses with Seventh Avenue traffic, and all the cross streets contributed more hustle to the flow.

„It’s changed so much,“ said Mr. Halpern. „It’s like watching a child grow.“ He pointed to the Disney store. Flights of cheerful cartoon characters had displaced hookers, peepshows and adult bookstores. Mickey Mouse reigned over Times Square. „My great-grandchildren love the – “ And now he stopped, perhaps recalling newspaper headlines to the effect that Detective Mallory was not a friend of the cartoon world.

A car honked to break a city ordinance against unnecessary noise. And now the warm scent of roasted chestnuts turned Mallory’s head. A sidewalk vendor had illegally set up his cart, despite the fact that the mayor had recently driven small entrepreneurs from the square. In the absence of a police presence, there were a lot of violations going down today. And that was odd – not a single uniformed officer in sight.

She focused on the old man again, walking alongside him, taking his measurements. According to the rabbi, Mr. Halpern was Malakhai’s age, but he seemed decades older. Was he ill, or only tired?

„I can read your mind, Detective Mallory. Why do I still work? It’s almost indecent, isn’t it? I should yield to the young – my replacements.“

„Not if you don’t want to.“ She was following the rabbi’s protocol to the letter. This was the warm-up, the casual conversation, an utter waste of her time.

„Oh, but I wanted to retire,“ said Mr. Halpern. „When my son took over the family business, I wanted to make an art studio in my garage. At last, I would have the time to work on my drawings. I’d waited so many years for the chance. But my boy had other plans. Now he keeps an office for me. I sit there every day and do work of no importance. He pretends I’m needed. I pretend not to notice that I’m in his way. Such loving lies we tell each other.“

„Why don’t you tell him what you want?“ At best, this old man would only have a few years left to draw his pictures.

„I did tell him. I said I wanted to retire. But my son knows I love him very much. He was sure I must be lying to him.“ Mr. Halpern shrugged. „So to prove his love is greater, he told the bigger lie. He said he couldn’t run the business without me. Well, he’s my son. How can I accuse him of lying?“ He raised his eyebrows to ask if she saw the humor in this.