„And you figured I was just spinning a story? No, I only lied to Coffey.“ It was clear that she considered that an honorable lie, only doing what was expected of her. „I know what you’re thinking. It’s a matter of style. Oliver died screaming, lots of noise and flash. But the gunshot at the parade was real straightforward, wasn’t it? Quick and to the point. The shooter only wanted to get it over with. The victim would never know what happened to him.“ Mallory turned to the image on the wall, the puff of smoke. „That’s Malakhai up there on the rocks.“ She switched it off.

„And the Central Park murder?“

„I like Nick Prado for that one. A public relations man makes spectacles for a living. But I’m keeping my options open.“ Now she revolved on her chair, turning to study his face. „Someone locked me in that platform. Do you believe me?“

Riker knew that she was really asking if he was on her side. „Yeah. If it was just the locked door or the bulb by itself – but I’m not a big believer in coincidence. I figure one of those things had to be deliberate.“

„The door was deliberate.“ She pulled a clear bag from her knapsack and tossed it on the desk. Inside were five shiny nails. „Those came from the plastic sheet over that backstage window. They didn’t fall out by themselves. He wanted to make it look accidental, like the wind blew the door shut. And the dead bulb was deliberate, too.“

„Mallory, Charles showed you the bulb. You heard – “

„Charles knows as much about electricity as you do.“ She turned on her desk lamp. „Keep your eye on that lightbulb.“ She bent down toward the socket.

Riker was watching the lamp when he saw the spark and heard the noise, and then the bulb went dead. Mallory removed it from the socket. When she shook it, he could hear the filament against the glass.

„I shorted it out with this.“ She held up a metal nail file. „The cable for the platform lamps was on an independent fuse. That’s why only one light went out. If Faustine’s Magic Theater had been an exact replica, I could’ve shown you a burnt-out fuse, but Oliver upgraded to switches.“

Riker sat down on the edge of her desk and folded his arms. „So you like Nick Prado for that setup?“

„Maybe. I’m guessing Futura was in the men’s room throwing up when you and Charles got back to the theater. But that could’ve been an act.“

„I didn’t see him around. But I don’t think Futura could do anything that – “

„Because he’s a rabbit? He’s more interesting than you know. He was in the Resistance during the war. That doesn’t fit either, does it? He stays on the list. So where were the other two when you walked in?“

„Prado and St. John were in the lobby. We kibitzed for a few minutes before me and Charles went inside the theater.“

„Could’ve been any one of them. Somebody wanted to restore my faith in accidents. Or maybe he just wanted to make me look hysterical. That worked on Charles, didn’t it? He bought the whole thing.“

Poor Charles. But she had a good point. In the early days as a beat cop handling domestic disputes, Riker had noticed that men relied heavily on the hysterical-woman defense: Who could take the word of a bloodied woman who could not stop crying?

So someone had come up with a novel variation on a bad old game, and Charles had fallen for it. Riker could think of a few more reasons for the breakup of Mallory’s business relationship – Charles Butler’s big brain, his giveaway face and proximity to all the suspects. She had been wise to distance herself, but she should have done it the right way.

„I almost forgot.“ He pulled a CD from the pocket of his suitcoat and set it on the corner of her desk. „A present. Louisa’s Concerto. Emile St. John wanted you to have it.“

She opened the case and slipped the disk into a computer slot. A full orchestra poured out of amplifiers in every wall. He was surrounded by musical instruments, a wall of sound. It was classical, not his taste, and he listened with the confusion of trying to sort out an alien language.

„Pretty, I guess. But you know what your old man would say? What good is it if you can’t dance to it?“

That had been his old friend’s criterion for all the music in an extensive collection of blues, jazz and rock ‘n’ roll. Even the slow, sad tunes did something to the human body. But now the dead woman’s music was touching him in other ways. Suddenly, it had his complete attention, as if the strings and horns were speaking to him in a more familiar language. This passage had a sad, lonely feeling.

The phone rang. Riker’s hand hovered over the receiver while he read the printed line on the caller-ID machine. „It’s Charles.“

„Don’t answer it.“

„You’re gonna let him sit around staring at the walls in your empty office till he figures out where things went wrong? Is that the plan?“

„Yeah, so?“

„He’s a friend of yours, remember? And your old man liked him, too.“

Louisa’s Concerto was plaintive now, lending melancholy to the ring of the telephone, backing it up with the low octaves of a sad, sorry horn. And now Riker was surprised. While the concerto affected Mallory not at all, the telephone made her inexplicably sad. Her head moved slowly from side to side, as if she could shake off the blues this way.

Riker’s solution was to turn up the volume of the music and avert his eyes from the phone. „So if Charles isn’t on your side all the way down the line – “

„Riker, save it, okay?“

When the phone ceased to ring, he looked at it, as if a conversation had ended abruptly, with no satisfying resolution.

Mallory switched on the answering machine so the ringing would not disturb her again.

„Did you leave the guy a note?“

„No!“ Mallory’s eyes were fixed on the computer screen. Her face was masklike as she merged with her machine.

Realizing that he did not exist anymore, not for her, Riker quietly let himself out.

An hour had passed before Mallory looked up from the computer screen. Where she had been all that time, she did not know. Her internal clock had failed her again. This was happening more often. Perhaps it was only an effect of Emile St. John’s wine.

She had finished cannibalizing files from a computer game of sudden death by joystick. It contained all the lines of programming to fire the onscreen crossbows.

The phone rang twice, and then she listened to Charles’s voice on the answering machine. „Mallory? Are you there?“

Not really. She was intent on the screen where her creation came alive, numbers and symbols translating into an image that revolved in space like a three-dimensional object, showing her all its sides, then upending itself to expose the base. She switched on the projector at the other end of a flat feed cable. Now the image was cast on the wall. The platform continued to turn in slow revolutions.

„Mallory, please pick up if you’re there,“ said the disembodied voice on the phone.

She tapped the keys to make the staircase wall transparent, disclosing the interior mechanisms of the lazy tongs and the levers.

„I’ll change all the locks,“ said Charles.

She diddled the keys again and again. One trapdoor dropped down into the platform. The lazy tongs slowly emerged, opening the metal arms, spreading them wide to support the cape.

„Will you call me back?“ There was not much hope in Charles’s request. „You are planning to explain this, right?“

Wrong. Mallory fired off four animated crossbows. One by one, they hit the target. And now she extended the time between the shots.

„We should talk.“ Charles was showing some wear in his voice. „This is – well, it’s cold.“

You think I’m a monster.

„No, I didn’t mean it that way,“ said Charles, as if he could hear her thoughts. „When I walked into that empty office – I was so surprised.“