Carol O’Connell - Shell Game

He set the bullet beneath a shell and began the little table dance of circling decoys. When the shells were once again lined up in a row, he put one finger lightly on the top of the first one. „Say I killed Oliver to avenge my wife.“ He touched the second shell. „Or maybe his killer fired that wild gunshot during the parade.“ His finger moved on to the last shell. „Or Oliver screwed up the illusion and killed himself. You don’t want it to be this shell, but it’s a possibility. Now where is the bullet?“

„It’s none of those things, and the bullet is in your hand.“

„Very good, Mallory. You’re getting there. However – “ He opened both hands and the bullet was not there.

One by one, she picked up the shells – no bullet.

„You still have a ways to go.“ He reached for the napkin concealing the gun.

Mallory was faster. Not taking her eyes from him, she clutched the mass of rumpled material. It was empty – no gun. She turned to see a single bullet drop from the cloth and roll across the table. The napkin fell in a crumpled heap, and in the next moment, she held Malakhai’s face between her hands – so gently, the other diners must take them for lovers. None of them could see how close her thumbs were to his eyes, long red nails brushing his eyelashes, almost touching his dark blue irises, threatening to blind him. „Very slowly, put both hands flat on the table.“

His hands appeared on the large dinner plate, the only clear space. He was much too calm.

„Where is my gun?“

„Inside the napkin. Have another look.“

„I’m not playing with you, Malakhai. I’m going to put your eyes out.“

„All right, now it’s inside the napkin. Look again.“

Without taking her eyes from his, she reached out one hand for the napkin, and her fingers closed on the solid mass of her revolver.

Angry, she ripped away the linen and held the naked weapon in her hand. Six bullets silently rolled toward her in single file between the wine bottle and the bread basket. She reloaded them into the chambers of her revolver, not caring that the waiter was standing only a few yards away, watching her and perhaps taking this for a comment on the service.

Malakhai was smiling. „You must learn to think beyond standard parameters, or you’ll never work it out.“

Mallory did not see herself in the role of his student; she cared nothing for his instruction. „You haven’t spoken to Louisa tonight. Forget the routine? Did you have another stroke?“

Disappointed in his silence, she continued in hopes of causing real damage. „You’re losing more memories every day.“

She caught the unconscious nod of his head. He put his cigarette in the ashtray, and now he noticed Louisa’s fresh one. It was stained with lipstick. Mallory had added no chemicals for smoke; its mere appearance in the ashtray was enough. He stared at it, suddenly wary, as if it might be dangerous to him.

„It’ll be over soon,“ she said. „You’ll forget your own name.“

„Less baggage to carry.“

„Your wife is slipping away from you.“

„Less heartache.“ He turned his eyes to Mallory, to show her a bit of pain as a gift, an offering he knew would please her.

„You lost the first Louisa. All you’ve got now is pieces of the monster you made – maybe half a woman left.“ She slipped her gun into the holster. „Let’s keep this simple. I don’t see Oliver killing your wife. But he knew who the murderer was.“

„Wrong.“ Malakhai shook his head slowly. „Poor Oliver never had a clue. He believed her death was an accident. Louisa was the only corpse he ever saw during the war. The army gave him a desk job, and that embarrassed him. He wanted to fight so badly. Such a brave little man – standing up to all those arrows.“

Mallory watched his hand close into a fist. Oliver’s death made him angry. This was no act. She had never caught him at that particular kind of deceit and did not see it as his style.

„No,“ said Malakhai. „I doubt that murder ever crossed his mind. Oliver was a rare good man and very loyal. He would never believe that one of his friends was capable of that.“

„If Oliver didn’t kill your wife, then he wasn’t murdered for revenge. And he left his fortune to charity, so I don’t have a money motive either. That’s how I know he frightened somebody. That’s all I’ve got left.“

„You call him by his first name,“ said Malakhai. „You never met him, but he’s always Oliver to you.“

She ignored this. „The gunshot that went wild and hit the balloon – that was an attempted murder. So I know the killing isn’t over yet. I can’t find you or Nick Prado on the parade tapes. Everyone else was in plain sight when that gun went off.“

„You take Oliver’s death personally, don’t you?“ Malakhai’s faint smile was wistful. He was oddly affected by this small habit, the use of the dead man’s first name.

„Maybe Prado was shooting at you. He’s a logical choice,“ said Mallory. „Wasn’t his old stage routine built around trick shots? But he probably wouldn’t have missed what he was aiming at. I think you’re the one who fired that bullet into the balloon. Before the shot went wild, you were targeting the man who killed Oliver. Was it someone on the float? Or did you see Nick Prado in the crowd?“

„Oliver would’ve adored you – his very own champion, his paladin.“

„Maybe you blew the shot because you stroked out with the gun in your hand. Or maybe you just don’t have what it takes to kill. What did you do in the war – after Louisa died? Was it a desk job like Oliver’s? Whose army were you in?“

„I started my basic training with the British. Then, before I was finished, they transferred me to an American unit.“

„Where you did what?“

„Mass murder.“ His hand was steady as he sipped his wine. His voice was even, almost mechanical. „I tore human beings to shreds with explosives. And then I did my usual meticulous body count. I walked among the dismembered corpses – and the living too. But survivors never lingered very long. I always tallied them up with the dead, even when I could hear them screaming. I counted the broken bloody heads. That was the easiest way to figure out how many people there would’ve been – if all the parts of them had been all together.“

This facility was highly rated by the state of Connecticut – and Mallory. The doors of every room stood open for her inspection, and cold white interior walls carried on the institutional theme of the corridor. There was no personal clutter of family photographs, no stale odor of sedentary patients, no hint of cologne or perfume. Every sign of the residents had been erased. A strong scent of disinfectant further killed any idea of a human habitat; only a fanatical cleaning woman or Detective Mallory could comfortably breathe in this atmosphere. She also approved of the tall nurse who walked beside her. The fragrance of laundry starch hung about his crisp white uniform.

The nurse was all too familiar with Mr. Roland. „The old man turned eighty-seven last month. Outlived his wife and son. The grandchildren could hardly wait to dump him here. Keep your distance, and forget everything you’ve heard about officers and gentlemen. He spits when he talks, and sometimes he aims it.“

„He’s gone senile?“

„Well, he does ramble some. But just between you and me, I think General Roland was always – “ One of his fingers made a spinning motion beside his head, as an illustration for toys in the attic.

„He told you he was a general?“

„Yes, ma’am, a five-star general. You’d think the war was still on, the way he barks orders to the staff.“