Carol O’Connell - Shell Game

Mr. Halpern pulled another match from the box. The unlit cigarette moved in the corner of his mouth as he spoke. „Twenty years later, I saw them again on the stage – right here in New York. Louisa was long dead by then, and her ghost was part of a magic act. I could hear Malakhai speaking to her, but I couldn’t see her – only the objects she carried. And then he sent her out into the audience, this poor dead girl. I felt a rush of air near my chair. I could smell a woman’s perfume – the scent of a flower.“

„A gardenia?“

„Yes, perhaps a gardenia. And then, I swear Louisa brushed my cheek with her hand. After the performance, I wanted to go backstage, to ask him then – how did they make their escape? But I was in tears. I couldn’t speak.“

Mallory had lost track of the odd little man in the ski cap. He had melded back into the crowd. „But didn’t you say you escaped?“

„Not the way they did, though I thought so at the time. I made the run myself on the next train. Once the guards knew Louisa was gone, the camp would lock down. I’d never get the chance again. I walked along the rails with my cart. I paid no attention to the guards, and so I was invisible to them – just as Malakhai had been. I waited for the steam of the engine to cover me, and then I boarded the mail car. There were no names on the sacks, only numbers. There was no way to tell when or where the next mail drop would be. They searched the car before the train pulled out. The butt of a rifle missed my head by an inch when a soldier jammed it into my sack.

You begin to see the problem? How did they miss two people in different mailbags?“

He struck the match; it flamed in the wind and died. He pulled out another. „I hid in there for hours and hours. I was afraid the train would never stop before we entered Germany. When it finally did stop, the mail car wouldn’t open from the inside – there was no latch. Can you imagine that moment? I gave myself up for dead and crawled back into that canvas bag, my shroud.“

„Then the door was pulled open. Only one sack was unloaded, and I was in it. A stroke of luck, one chance in a pile of ten mailbags to escape from the train. I was thrown onto the back end of a supply truck. Once it was on the road, I crawled out of the sack and jumped off. I was free.“

He struck another match, and Mallory cupped her hands around it to shelter the flame from the wind.

„But you see, don’t you? That couldn’t have been the way Malakhai and Louisa escaped. You can see the odds against it.“ He bowed to the glow of the match and lit his cigarette. „But I think I’ve figured it out – the only way it could’ve happened.“

He turned to exhale the smoke away from her, and a look of extreme horror flooded his eyes. Mallory stepped to the side and saw the gun rising in the hand of the little man with the ski cap. The spray gun was firing a black stream of paint at Mr. Halpern. And now there was also surprise on the face of the smaller man. He was trying to stuff his spray gun into the valise as he ran.

Mallory didn’t have to chase him far. He was laughing when she brought him down, unafraid, even proud – until the pain set in.

„You’re breaking my arm,“ he screamed, as she ungently pulled it back to handcuff him.

A group of people gathered around them, some for the show, and others were probably hoping to catch her in an act of police brutality. Never a willing crowd pleaser, Mallory elected not to break the little man’s bones.

„Thanks,“ said a woman in street clothes, kneeling on the ground beside her. A man joined them, flashing his identification and badge for Mallory as he crouched over the prisoner. „We’ll take over now.“

She looked past these two to see the others approach, at least ten cops in plainclothes, coming out from under cover, pinning badges to their coats as they ran. Turning around, she saw more of them coming from across the square.

So this had been a stakeout. That would explain the lack of uniforms. All of them had known what the little freak was planning. They had probably been watching him while he shot the old man with the spray gun – and they let it happen. An attempted assault was no substitute for the real thing.

She walked away from the cluster of spectators and plainclothes cops. Mr. Halpern was alone, standing apart from the crowd. His face was splattered, and his coat dripped black paint on the ground. Taking the old man’s arm, she led him along the sidewalk. Mallory saw every approaching pedestrian as a potential criminal who might jostle him, and she held Mr. Halpern’s arm a little tighter.

The small room was at the end of the hall, far from the traffic of office workers in this firm which bore the Halpern name. The walls were decorated with a collection of drawings by Paul Klee and Max Ernst. The desktop was clear of paperwork, and the Times crossword puzzle had already been completed and discarded in the wastepaper basket.

„I’m sorry this happened.“ Mallory set a cup of tea on the desk blotter in front of Mr. Halpern. His face was still spotted with red blotches from scrubbing off the paint splatters. His coat had taken the worst of the assault, and only a few spots were visible on his pale gray suit.

Again, she said, „I’m sorry,“ knowing there were not sorries enough to cover this kind of damage. She could not forget the look in his eyes when the spray gun fired. She should have been able to protect him.

Another screwup.

He reached over and rested his hand on hers. „Not your fault.“ His skin was cool and dry, and his thin hand was like a delicate covering of wrapping paper. She wondered how much time he would have left to draw his pictures.

In the hall outside the office door, Mr. Halpern’s son was speaking with a uniformed officer.

„Detective Mallory, tell me about this little fellow with the paint gun,“ said the elder Mr. Halpern. „Was it my fur hat that made him angry? One of the animal-rights people spat on me a few months back.“

„No, he was one of the antismoking people.“ And now Mallory was envisioning tomorrow’s headline: ‘Puppy-shooting Cop Assaults Political Activist.’ „Your cigarette set him off. His father died of a heart attack, and he blames it on secondhand smoke.“

„But – out of doors?“

„The freak always works on the street. Easier to hit and run. He’s done this to a lot of people, usually women. He’s never splattered anyone big enough to put a fist through his face. Detective Rodriguez said you must have turned around at the wrong time. He usually gets his victims in the back. Then he lectures them on smoking and runs away before they find out they’ve been hit.“

„So the other officers knew who he was before – “

„Times Square is his favorite spot.“ And now she confirmed the old man’s suspicion. „The arresting officers were waiting for him this time.“

Fifteen cops had been assigned to one vandal. God forbid the spray gun should splatter an out-of-towner and upset the mayor’s tourism promotion. Meanwhile, she had to cheat and lie to get a fraction of that manpower on a homicide case.

She turned to look at the officer waiting in the hallway. „When you’re ready, that cop will drive you home to Scarsdale.“

„No, Detective Mallory. I’m fine, thank you. My son wouldn’t understand if I – “

„He will when I get through with him.“ Did the old man’s face tense up slightly? In a softer voice, more reassuring, she said, „Any kind of assault leaves people a little shaky, even if it’s just a shouting match on the street. I’ll explain that to your son. He’ll understand.“

„Is there time for the rest of the story? I want to tell you my theory – how Louisa and Malakhai got away.“