Chapter 9

Closing the Case

AT THE END of every case there are a few loose ends to tidy away. Sometimes more than others. This one was probably about average. I drew the curtain on the Angel rather than let her watch me work. She’d be quite safe out of sight against the back wall of the building, I decided. Oh, she was strong enough to move about a bit, but not beyond the curtain. Now might be a good opportunity to refer back to my comments on hindsight in the sort of way that, at the time, I didn’t.

My concern was more human. The last remaining Hank was a problem that would resolve itself, sadly. The current Giddy Semestre and Rock Railton too. Also sadly. Hatchet-faced Hilda the Make-Up Lady was a different prospect, but maybe she’d see an opportunity in the studio’s inevitable demise and apply her talents to her own features. It couldn’t hurt.

But in the meantime I could do something for the poor unfortunates trapped in their bell jars.

I had a smashing time getting them all out. The first was the most difficult because I had no help. But I dragged a Rock Railton to the coffin-shaped tank, and then got to work on the equipment. I’m pretty good with a screwdriver. I don’t mean the drink, though actually, now I come to think of it…

One thing that had puzzled me was how an oaf like Kliener could possibly have created such a device. I soon found my answer – he hadn’t. It was just a collection of wires and valves arranged with the haphazard ‘try it and see’ mentality of a hopeful dullard. The Angel had simply given Kliener what he wanted. The Angel, not the equipment, did all the work. And, arrogant to a degree that eclipsed whatever common sense he once had, Kliener assumed he had created the machinery. Maybe the Angel planted the idea in his rather empty head in the first place.

But whatever the case, it meant I had merely to reconnect the cables the other way round. I suffered a slight crisis of conscience (all such crises are slight in my book), before switching on.

My twinge, let’s call it that, was because I didn’t actually know which of the Rock Railton copies had been created from which of the original men that the equipment had stored details for.

When the process was finished, and I helped a confused and rather tired-looking young man out of the tank, he might have got someone else’s features and body again. Or he might be back to himself. I consoled myself with the knowledge that he would never actually know. Whoever he was now was the person he thought and remembered he had always been.

I don’t know what he made of the process of helping me carry another unconscious body over to the tank. But as it was a Giddy Semestre copy, he probably quite enjoyed it.

It wasn’t too long before the bell jars were empty and an assortment of confused young men and women listened to me explain about experimental movie effects, thank them for their help, and talk in brief about where they could find out more about training for the stunt industry. I doubt any of them were impressed. None of them seemed keen to follow up on my suggestion that Max Kliener would be happy to explain everything.

I watched them leave. They were young and mostly good looking, but there wasn’t a Rock Railton or a Giddy Semestre among them. They were all of a similar height and roughly the same build as the stars they had been intended to replace, but they just didn’t have… something. Maybe it’s star quality. Maybe it’s charisma. Maybe it’s just confidence.

But they were all alive and well. They’d not been kissed by an angel, so they’d live full and happy lives. Or as full and happy as fate decreed. They were all unique, all – in their own special way and to someone – a star.

As soon as I was alone, I dismantled the equipment and got to work again with my screwdriver. Soon it was just a pile of metal, cables, wires and tubes. I’d call by the prop store on my way out and have them just take it away.

That left only the Angel to deal with. How do you deal with a statue, that had to be the real problem. Only, of course, it wasn’t.

The real problem, as I discovered when I pulled back the curtain, was finding it again. Where the Angel had been standing, there was an empty space. In front of the empty space was a faint dusting of Max Kliener. Behind it was a large hole in the wall where someone had taken out one of the prefabricated panels from the outside.

I knew this because the actual panel had been carefully – and obviously quietly – leaned up against the wall beside the resulting hole. Several sets of footmarks in the dust and dirt led away from the building. It must have happened while I was preoccupied with ushering out the confused and rather noisy Starlight Stars and Starlets. In the distance I could see a trail of dust kicked up by a departing truck. A truck that was undoubtedly taking the Angel away to…

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it?

One case might be over, but another had just opened. New York was growling outside, but I was ready for it. My stocking seams were straight, my lipstick was combat-ready, and I was packing cleavage that could fell an ox at twenty feet.

What had happened to the Angel was a mystery.

But I am Melody Malone, with ice in my heart and a kiss on my lips. In the city that never sleeps and should never blink, mysteries are my business.