Mallory's Oracle (42 page)

Charles was staring at the television set, but his mind had strolled across the hall to the office where she stored her computer toys. Of course, keeping the partnership had its practical aspects. Here she had freedom from the supervision of anyone who might recognize her equipment as the electronic equivalent of burglary tools.

“This word just in, ”
said the news broadcaster, calling Charles back to the kitchen and the moment. Now he was looking at Mallory's face on the television screen.

“We have a bulletin,”
the broadcaster was saying.
‟A police office has been murdered in Central Park. The victim is Sergeant Kathleen Mallory, daughter of the deceased Inspector Louis Markowitz, who gave his own life in the line of duty. Details of the murder are being withheld pending further investigation. ”

Charles looked across the table at the living, solid, three-dimensional Mallory as though he needed to verify her existence, needed to be sure his eyes were not in error before he could doubt the veracity of television. Suppose she had not been with him when he heard the news?

They watched in silence. Much channel changing told them other news programs were also carrying the story.

And now the phone was ringing in concert with the doorbell. The first of the condolence calls, he supposed. Mallory went off to answer the door as he picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Charles, this is Riker. Don't you ever pick up the messages on your answering machine?”

“Riker, is this about the report on Mallory's death?”

“Yeah,” said Riker. “I'm calling from the Medical Examiner's Office. We've been trying to track down Mallory all day. Is she there? Could you put the little corpse on the phone?”

Mallory walked back into the kitchen, followed by Dr. Henrietta Ramsharan of apartment 3A. Henrietta's dark hair fell soft and loose around the shoulders of her denim shirt. She wore her after-hours faded jeans and the confusion of the eyes came from having the door opened by a dead person.