Carol O’Connell - Shell Game

„Such a frightened little man,“ she said. „Hard to imagine him killing Louisa. But you told him a fake death would never fool the Germans. And you were right about that. So you got him all worked up, crazy with fear, hysterical. Did you tell him Louisa knew about his connection to the Resistance movement?“

Prado was enjoying this. „You know, at the time, I didn’t even know Franny was in the Resistance.“

„But you knew St. John was connected. I know you’re the one who gave him up to Futura. You exposed your best friend to up the ante. When fear wasn’t enough, you made a woman’s murder into an act of patriotism.“

His eyes flickered and his mouth opened in dumb surprise – wordless, stunned. It was more than the stupefying effect of drugs. She had guessed right.

Mallory turned to scan the audience, searching for Malakhai’s face. Young men in workmen’s clothes and old men in tuxedos were clustering in the wings at the opposite end of the stage. She motioned Prado to walk ahead of her and beyond the backdrop curtain.

„Prado, I know you’re running this show. You want Futura to die while all those people are watching. That’s part of the kick, isn’t it? Did you rig his act? Or did Malakhai do that?“

„I’m not here to – “

„We’re going up there.“ She waved the crossbow to the ladder for the narrow catwalk. „No witnesses. Most people never look up.“

Prado stared at the ladder. His reflexes might be dulled by drugs, but the anxiety of acrophobia was surfacing. His head snapped back, as if she had shot him seconds ago and the arrow had just caught up to him. „Mallory, if you really think Franny’s act is rigged, why not just stop the show and check his props?“

„That’s not as easy as you might think. Move!“ And now Prado had confirmed that she would find no evidence of tampering. If she did stop the show, she would only become the butt of a joke for the second time in one night.

And the threat would not come from the direction of the audience either. She knew Malakhai was not out there planning to risk another long-range shot, not with a revolver. He had stolen her handgun for something up close, point-blank and fatal.

Prado rested one tentative hand on a rung of the ladder. She prodded him with the crossbow. He climbed slowly toward the suspension bridge that stretched across the stage. Eyes shut, he gripped the ladder so tightly, it was an effort to uncurl his fingers from one rung to the next.

Mallory followed him, inching one hand along the rail, aiming the crossbow at his backside. He stepped off the ladder and onto a small metal platform. Mallory stood behind him. „Keep moving.“

His eyes opened in disbelief, head shaking in denial.

Were the drugs wearing off?

She put the crossbow into the small of his back. Gingerly, he put one foot on the wooden planks, and the suspension bridge moved beneath him. He gripped the handrails. Mallory prodded him again, and he moved forward. The wooden planks swayed with every step. He froze to make the motion stop, and Mallory shifted her weight to make the bridge move again.

„All right!“ He edged forward.

When they were over the center of the stage, Mallory said, „Stop here.“ She looked down at the floorboards. A glass coffin rested on the long black table. Futura was standing by a microphone as the six assistants carried a burlap dummy in the fashion of tap-dancing pallbearers. Recorded music blared out of amplifiers in the wings. It was a second-rate show tune she could not name.

„Canned music and chorus boys,“ muttered Prado. „Franny hired chorus boys.“

He gripped the rails and lowered his head to look down. She had not expected him to do that. The thing that terrified him also fascinated him. „That dummy is all that’s left of a beautiful illusion. Franny wanted to use a pumpkin for the demonstration. Can you imagine that?“

„So you did help him with the act.“ She had caught the false notes in his voice, a catch in the throat as he made a hash of forced bravado. She studied his face and found it wanting in terror. How many pills had he taken to get him through the hangman illusion?

„You should’ve told Emile you were afraid of heights. He wouldn’t have asked you to do his act.“

„I am not afraid – “

She shifted her weight to rock the catwalk from side to side. Prado’s hands wrapped around the rail in a death grip. His eyes were wider now, looking down with the expression of someone witnessing a train wreck in the making. In his mind, he was already falling.

On the stage below, the cloth dummy lay inside the coffin, and Franny Futura was separating the halves of the glass box to expose the midriff of burlap. The pendulum began to move, lowering as it swung. She could barely hear the well-oiled clockwork gears running up the base in a flow of wheels, levers and springs to operate the swing and fall of the crescent razor.

Prado’s jaw was locked; he spoke through closed teeth. „No sign of Malakhai.“

„He’s here.“ Her eyes searched a backstage cluster of workmen and stagehands. Malakhai would not risk a shot from the wings.

Prado’s smile was grim, almost sickly. Delusions of grandeur were warring with the fear of falling. His sedatives were robbing her. This was not the full-blown phobia, not all the fear she wanted. Mallory made the bridge sway, but only a little this time. When she had his attention, the movement stopped. She was teaching him rat-lab protocol. If he did as he was told, she would not terrify him – much.

Below her, the pendulum was picking up speed as the arc of the razor widened. „I thought Emile was the one who told Malakhai how his wife really died. But I was wrong about that, wasn’t I? You got to him first.“ She shook the bridge and Prado reacted a bit faster this time.

His nod was exaggerated, saying, Yes, whatever you like.

„After the war, you wanted Malakhai to kill Futura. That would’ve tied up your only loose end for Louisa’s murder.“

The pendulum had sunk to the level of the coffin. Four of the chorus boys were dancing and flapping their scarlet capes in a circle around the magician in the tuxedo. Two of them covered the separated halves of the glass coffin with drapes, hiding all but the cloth dummy’s midsection.

Mallory leaned close to Prado, knowing he’d never release his hold on the rail to go for her weapon. „Futura was born frightened, wasn’t he? He read Oliver’s invitation and nearly lost his mind. I’ve got the phone records,“ she lied. „I know he talked it over with you.“

Had she guessed wrong this time? Between the drugs and the fear of falling, his face was unreadable. Mallory waited until he had taken a few deep breaths. „I know you planned Oliver’s murder.“ She could not be wrong about that part. „And I know you did it just to make a motive for this one. That’s your style, too complex, too messy – still plotting like an idiot teenager.“

Prado seemed genuinely indignant. „I never killed – “

She shifted her weight again. The bridge moved with a wider pitch. His face was flushed, and his breathing was fast and shallow. When she was done with his punishment for lying, she stopped rocking her body. „So it takes two murders to cover up what you did to Louisa? You couldn’t afford to let her run that night, not with your forged documents. You had to come up with a way to kill her in Paris.“

„Franny killed Louisa!“

She rocked the bridge again, and he sank to his knees, his hands still wrapped around the rails, eyes shut tight.

„Everyone was in danger,“ he said. „Emile was – “

She rocked the bridge with violence, making it swing from side to side. His eyes opened and rolled back to solid whites.