Carol O’Connell - Shell Game

Mallory was looking down at the stuffed animal when the detectives screamed in unison, „I didn’t do it!“

Mallory’s slogan.

Her head remained bowed, eyes fixed on the toy. She stiffened slightly when a detective taped a giant paper star on her shoulder. The bold print of a felt-tip marker read: ‘The only good puppy is a dead puppy.’ Any second now, she would explode – or she would work it out. The men were popping off the balls of their feet, finding this tension delicious, God’s gift to all the detectives of the Special Crimes Unit. A true day of thanksgiving.

Aw, Mallory, no.

She was looking up at them now, wearing a broad smile that was radiant – and pure Markowitz, a damn ghost of the old man. There had been no resemblance between father and foster child – absolutely none. Yet this was the inspector, back from the grave and charming everyone in the room.

Oh, Jesus, this is criminal.

Mallory had even captured mannerisms, tugging on her right earlobe as she focused on every man in turn, making each one the center of the universe and special in her eyes – Markowitz’s eyes. How many hours had she labored in front of a mirror, coldly perfecting this impersonation – and why?

Coffey stared at his detectives, all but Riker, who had turned away from the window, not wanting to see this anymore. Her cheap magic act was working on all the others. Their faces were full of delight, their own smiles saying, Well, hello again, old man.

It was shocking to see Markowitz alive in Mallory – and obscene. How conniving and maniacal.

How smart.

She might learn all her lessons the hard way, but she did adapt with inhuman cunning and speed.

The men were grinning, all cops together now, laughing and slapping backs, aiming light, good-natured punches to her arms. Mallory the loner had won them over with charisma stolen from a dead man. The only woman on this squad was finally one of the boys – just what Coffey had hoped for, and he damned her to hell for the way she had pulled it off.

He threw open the door and yelled, „Mallory! Get your ass in here!“

The mood of the room shifted abruptly, and he was met with sullen glares from every cop, including the pair in uniform.

Oh, great. Just great. Now it was all of them and Mallory against himself. Ah but payback, fresh ridicule, was only as far away as tomorrow’s press release. And now he looked forward to telling her about the crossbow shooter.

She walked toward the door, taking her own time, so as not to give the impression that she was acting on a direct order from a commanding officer. The smile dropped away as she crossed the threshold of his office. The show was over.

He slammed the door and sat down behind his desk. „Mallory, you’re going to take a little vacation for a while.“

She removed the paper star from her shoulder. „I don’t have any vacation time left.“

„I know that.“ He made a show of moving papers around on his blotter, unwilling to meet her eyes until his anger subsided. „Call it a little gift from Commissioner Beale.“ Over the edge of his desk, he watched the legs of her designer jeans folding into the chair beside Riker’s. She wore new running shoes, and he knew that brand – two hundred dollars a pop. The long leather trench coat parted as she crossed her legs. And how much had that tailored item cost?

„I can’t take any time off.“ Mallory shot the crumpled paper star into the wastebasket next to his desk. „I’m working a full caseload.“

Her voice was too confident, and he was about to change that. „Not anymore.“

His attention shifted to the long ash on Riker’s cigarette. It was perilously close to dropping on the floor. It had taken three months of requisitions to get the new carpet. A cloud of smoke drifted across the desk, and he wondered if Riker was deliberately distracting him with this flanking maneuver of fresh aggravation. Coffey turned to Mallory. Her face was absent the sham warmth of Markowitz.

If a machine had eyes…

„You’re off duty until this shit dies down, and that may take a while.“ He picked up a sheet of quotes from the parade broadcast and handed it to her. „America’s most famous cartoon character was gunned down in the street – by a cop. Parents are gonna use your name to scare their kids into behaving.“

„Yeah,“ said Riker, rousing from lethargy. „I can hear the mommies now – ’Clean up your room, or Detective Mallory will shoot your dog.’“

The phone jangled, and Coffey picked up the receiver midring. This was the call he had been waiting for. He listened for a moment, then said, „Put him through.“ And now a technician was delivering a dry recital of test results produced in record time. Normally, Special Crimes only got this kind of service when a cop killed a human.

Mallory was reading the quotes of the newscasters. Was her stomach knotting up? He hoped so.

„This is bogus,“ she said. „I did not fire my gun in – “

„Oh yeah?“ Coffey covered the phone’s mouthpiece with one hand. „There’s a bullet missing from your gun.“ He turned to her partner and tossed a sheaf of stapled, badly typed text into the sergeant’s lap. „Riker, you forgot to mention that little detail in your report. Fix it.“ He spoke to his caller: „What else?… Hold on.“ He cupped the receiver again. „The tech says the gun was fired recently.“

Riker looked up from his paperwork. „I bet they can’t pin it down within twenty-four hours.“

Coffey pretended not to hear that, because it was true. As he thanked the technician for the holiday overtime, he was making a mental note of what Mallory was costing the Special Crimes budget.

„My gun was fired yesterday,“ she said. „Not this morning.“

„What were you – “

„Lieutenant?“ Riker slowly shook his head. „You don’t want to know.“

„The hell I don’t.“ Well, actually, he didn’t. There was a lot to be said for deniability in Copland politics. Coffey turned his attention back to Mallory. „Out of all the balloons in the parade, why did you have to shoot a dog – a puppy, for Christ’s sake.“

„Yeah, Mallory.“ Riker’s head was bowed over the papers in his hand. „That was cold. Why not shoot that annoying woodpecker you never liked?“

„I didn’t – “

„Right.“ If NYPD could not prove it, she did not do it – Coffey knew that old song. But this time he had witnesses. „I’ve got statements from people who saw you fire your gun.“

„Damn civilians.“ Riker’s pencil was moving over lines of text. „They hear a car backfire, and then they see a gun that isn’t there.“ He looked up at Coffey. „And who says the balloon was shot? Another balloon went down when a tree branch ripped it.“

The lieutenant opened the center drawer of his desk and pulled out a videotape. He held it up to Riker. „For a joke, one of the reporters asked Dr. Slope to examine the dead balloon. Well, his kid’s with him, right? I guess he thought it might be fun for Faye. So, to quote our chief medical examiner, ‘Yup, that’s a bullet wound all right.’“ Coffey dropped the tape in the drawer and slammed it shut. „They’ve got film of Dr. Slope bending over this pile of rubber, explaining how the edges of the holes are more consistent with bullets than trees.“

„Good,“ said Mallory. „That backs me up. The guy with the crossbow wasn’t the only shooter in the crowd.“

This was the moment Coffey had been waiting for. He leaned toward her, not even trying to suppress his happiness. „The crossbow shooter was hired by the magicians on the float. The kid was part of the act, Mallory – a publicity stunt. The old guys paid him to do it.“