"Because of his affair with Queenie?"

"Not entirely. Because she had failed in her efforts to produce an heir to the throne. Three daughters, but not the son that Farouk needed to guarantee succession for the Egyptian monarchy. It just meant that Queenie had his full attention at the time, and his complete confidence. And yes, she fell in love with him."

"Did she tell you why?"

Logan thought for a minute. "He wasn't the pathetic old exile the world got to know later on, when he had worked himself up into a three-hundred-fifty-pound glutton. Queenie showed me the photo of him that was on the cover of Time magazine when he was crowned, sort of the great white hope of the Middle East. Prince Charming in the land of the pharaohs. He was smart, spoke seven languages, was a high-liver, and he loved women."

"I guess the sapphires didn't hurt, either."

"Queenie had a good laugh about that one," Logan said. "The necklace he tried to give her the first night? A total fake. He carried costume jewelry with him every night that he went out on the town to give away to the showgirls and hookers. He had millions, but he was a real cheapskate with the ladies. I think it fascinated him that Queenie didn't care about his possessions-the jewels, the cars, all the other things."

"What do you mean, 'things'?"

"The king was a collector. Of things, loads of things. Weird things, expensive things. He just had to own whatever he could get his hands on."

"What exactly did he collect?"

"The way Queenie talked, to me it sounded like everything. You know about the pornography, right?"

"No, no. I don't."

"Hasn't anyone told you about those pictures in Queenie's bedroom?" Logan asked.

"The ones by James Van Derzee?"

"Not them. Those are great photos. Really classy. The Schomburg has his whole collection of those-very artistic, very elegant."

I didn't want to tell Logan that the killer had stopped to pose his victim the same way the great photographer had memorialized her. Maybe he already knew that.

"What pornography do you mean?"

"King Farouk had the world's most extensive pornography collection. Erotic art, objects and devices of every kind, timepieces with fornicating couples gyrating on the watch face as the hands moved around. Pornographic neckties, playing cards, calendars, corkscrews. Then he got the bright idea to make Queenie pose for photographs."

"And she did?"

"She did at first. She never minded displaying that body of hers. It was only after the king wanted her to perform sexual acts with other men, so that they could be photographed for his collection, that she objected. She refused to do that. It was the beginning of the end of their relationship."

"The pornography-what became of all of it?"

"Queenie took whatever pictures she could with her when she left Egypt in 1946. When Sotheby's auctioned the rest of Farouk's collections after he was deposed, she contacted them to see whether she could buy some of the photographs, so they wouldn't become public. But at the last minute Sotheby's withdrew the pornography from the auction, along with some other royal loot. She never knew what happened to the stuff. Didn't much matter, though. Her spirit was already broken."

"Because?"

"Fabian, her son."

"Had he died?"

"Yeah. He had contracted polio. Infantile paralysis. Nineteen fifty-five, a few months before the vaccine was approved for use in the States. Shortly before the auction."

I did the math in my head. "Fabian was-"

"King Farouk's son. The prince of Egypt, heir to the throne."

We were both silent.

"That blond child with fair skin looked exactly like his old man," Logan said. "I'll show you the pictures."

"She must have been devastated."

"Still couldn't talk about it without breaking up, Ms. Cooper. I mean, she knew long before she became pregnant that she wasn't much more than one in a long line of royal concubines. There were belly dancers and British diplomats' wives in the same club as Queenie. Two of the king's favorite mistresses were Jewish-it was a different Egypt in those days-but none of them was likely to become the queen."

"Did he know she was pregnant when she left him?"

He nodded his head. "She was too proud to tell him. But after she gave birth to their son here in the States, she sent him some photographs, knowing how badly he wanted a male heir, and seeing how closely the child resembled the young Farouk. She did the F thing, too."

"What?"

"Farouk's father, King Fuad, had once consulted a seer, who told him that all his good fortune derived from the letter F. Fuad then demanded that everyone in the royal family be named based on that prophecy-Farouk himself, and his sisters Fawzia, Faiza, Faika. Like that. He had even made his wife change her name. Queenie thought she'd get his attention that way. 'Here's your prince, Fabian, just look at him.'"

"Did Farouk respond to her?"

"She never heard from him again. He divorced his wife and married a sixteen-year-old girl, who finally gave birth to an heir-the next Fuad."

"Did he ever contact Fabian? Support him?"

"Queenie didn't want money from him. She just wanted him to acknowledge the boy, to know that she had done what the royal princess failed to do until that time."

"But how did she live? Did she continue to dance?"

"Not for very long," Logan said, stopping to open his mouth wide and stroke his goatee. He seemed to be thinking about whether to go on. Then he leaned back and reached into the pocket of his jeans.

"Queenie gave this to me in June, for my birthday," he said, handing me a pocket watch.

It was in a solid-gold case, and on the back were the initials F.R. "Farouk Rex," Logan said. "Given to him by his pal, the Duke of Windsor."

"And Farouk, he gave things like this to Queenie?"

"Not exactly," Spike Logan said, smiling. "My girl got a few kicks in before she left town to come back to Harlem. She stole this from the king."

22

McQueen Ransome stole a gold watch from the King of Egypt. What else of value might she have taken in a fit of pique, out of favor and heading for home?

"Did she tell you," I asked Spike Logan, "whether she took any of Farouk's other 'things' when she left?"

"Hey, it all started as a prank. There was a well-known story at the time about Farouk pardoning a famous pickpocket from one of Alexandria's penitentiaries. In return, the king wanted lessons from the guy. So the thief agreed, and taught His Majesty how to steal by sewing tiny bells into each of his own pockets, like little alarms, before filling them with objects. By the end of his lessons, Farouk had mastered the art of light-fingered lifting. You never heard the story about Churchill's watch?"

"No."

"Churchill was visiting the troops and stopped to have dinner with Farouk, who lifted his watch from the prime minister's waistcoat during cocktails, without the great statesman having a clue. Only after the meal, when Churchill asked the time, did the king pull out the old guy's watch from his pocket and tell him."

I laughed at the image.

"Farouk thought it would be fun to teach Queenie, too. She got a platinum cigarette case off Noël Coward one night, and the money clip that Jack Benny carried in the inner pocket of his dinner jacket when he came to perform for the troops."

"But she carried it farther than that, I take it."

Logan got serious. "She could see what was coming, Ms. Cooper. The king was losing interest in her, she knew she couldn't make a living dancing while she was pregnant, and she didn't know what kind of hard times she was facing back in the States, going home to Harlem after the war."