Final Judgment

by Joel Goldman

  “We were there.”

  It went like that for more than an hour. When it became clear what Mason was doing, Griswold interrupted to give him a Miranda warning, making him sign a statement that he declined counsel. Griswold teased the details out of Mason, who didn’t want to appear too eager to confess. He wanted Griswold to believe that Vanessa Carter was innocent, and nothing undermined a witness’s credibility more than being too prepared, too rehearsed.

  “I’ve got a problem here,” Griswold said when Mason finished laying it out. “You asked Fiori to put the arm on Judge Carter to get Blues released on bail. He says okay. She releases Blues. Looks like she’s got as big a problem as you do. But you keep telling me she didn’t know what was going on. You understand my problem here?”

  Mason knew his story would fall apart if the blackmailer went public with the tape of Fiori and Judge Carter. He was counting on the blackmailer staying private once the leverage of the tape was gone. Disclosing it would only increase the risk the blackmailer would be caught, getting him nothing in return.

  “Fiori told me he never made the call,” Mason said, improvising a detail he hoped would close the deal, especially since Fiori couldn’t contradict him from the grave. “Judge Carter confirmed that. She said she made her decision to grant bail strictly on the merits. That’s why I couldn’t pressure her to rule in Galaxy’s favor. She told me the blackmailer was my problem, not hers.”

  “Rockley could have been part of the blackmail scheme—trying to save his ass and instead got himself killed by whoever was running the show. Who do you like for the blackmail?”

  “Al Webb is the only one left,” Mason said. “Rockley and Keegan are dead.”

  “Which reminds me,” Griswold said. “I talked to Lila Collins again. She told me the same thing she told you about Keegan. He said he needed the name of a lawyer to give to a friend so she gave him your name. If you’re involved in this blackmail scheme, that could have been enough to get Keegan killed.”

  “I’ve thought of that.”

  “You should have come to me sooner,” Griswold said. “Now you’re looking at attempted bribery, extortion, corruption of a public official, and obstruction of justice. Not what I’d call a good day, Counselor. What happened, you get a conscience transplant?”

  “Something like that,” Mason answered. “What now?”

  Griswold let out a sigh. “It’s not every day that a member of the bar walks in here and hands me his nuts. I’ve got to talk to the prosecuting attorney. In the meantime, I’d hire a couple of lawyers. One for you and one for your client.”

  The morning cold had stiffened with blunt gusts of wind, each one like a hard right hand. Mason took the blows without feeling them as he walked back to his car. For an instant, he thought he saw Fish waiting for him in the parking lot. He hurried toward him, waving and calling his name, ready to tell him what he’d done until he realized the old man he saw was a bum scouring the asphalt for lucky pennies. Confession was supposed to be good for his soul. He hadn’t known it would also cloud his vision.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  Mason tried Lila’s numbers again. When she didn’t answer, he drove to the casino and surveyed the parking lot until he found Lila’s car in the section marked off for employees. He kept going, not stopping until he found a side street just off the casino grounds and out of range of its ubiquitous video cameras. If Lila wouldn’t answer her phone, he’d have to flush her out. He called Galaxy’s main number and asked for Al Webb.

  “It’s Lou Mason,” he said.

  “What can I do for you that you shouldn’t be talking to my lawyer about instead of me?” Webb asked.

  “You’re blackmailing Judge Carter. I don’t think you want me to talk to your lawyer about that.”

  Webb laughed. “We’re back to that, are we? Why would I blackmail Judge Carter over a lousy sexual harassment claim? For which the casino has ample insurance coverage, I might add. Sorry, not interested.”

  “The last time we talked you were interested enough to ask my price for telling you what I know.”

  “You’re confusing two different commodities. I’m not interested in talking to you about whether I’m blackmailing Judge Carter because I’m not blackmailing Judge Carter. If someone else is, or if someone like that two-legged turd Vince Bongiovanni is spreading a rumor that I am blackmailing her, that’s information I would gladly pay for.”

  “In that case, I’ve got something you want and I’m ready to do business. When can I meet with you and Lila?”

  “Lila? What’s she got to do with this?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get together. I can be at your office in ten minutes.”

  “Won’t work,” Webb blurted. “Lila’s not here. She called in sick. You and I can make a deal without her.”

  “You can, but I can’t. No Lila, no deal. Call me when she’s feeling better,” he said, reciting his cell phone number.

  Mason had a good view of the main road leading into the casino parking lot. He was parallel parked in a row of cars similar enough in color and style that his didn’t stand out. He could sit there the rest of the day and wait for Lila or Webb to drive by, except he didn’t have the rest of the day.

  Mickey was due to meet Sylvia McBride at the bank branch on Fifty-first Street in an hour. Mason had promised Fish he would wait with him at Fish’s house until Mickey and Sylvia finished their business. He took a long look toward the casino parking lot. It was impossible to choose winners and losers from the handful of people he could see coming and going or tell if Lila was among those leaving. His cell phone rang as he put his car in gear.

  “Seven o’clock tonight,” Al Webb said.

  “With or without Lila?”

  “She’ll be there.”

  “Where?”

  “Lake Lotawana. Ever been?”

  “Nope, but I hear that it’s nice and quiet this time of year.”

  “Can’t beat it,” Webb said and gave Mason directions to the house on L Street titled in Ernie Fowler’s name. “You think you can find it?”

  Mason listened closely but didn’t hear any sarcasm that meant Webb knew Mason had found the house once before.

  “How hard can it be? See you at seven.”

  SEVENTY-THREE

  Pete Samuelson was at Fish’s house when Mason arrived, accompanied by the technician who had set up the equipment for Fish’s phone call to Sylvia McBride. Samuelson and the technician were seated at the kitchen table, the technician tapping keys on a laptop computer and adjusting the sound on a pair of speakers. Fish was standing behind Samuelson, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen.

  Samuelson looked up as Mason walked in. “You’re just in time,” he said. “We thought Mr. Fish might be able to help us with this. We’re tapped into the bank’s closed-circuit monitors and the transmitter and receiver Mickey is wearing.”

  “You don’t call ahead for an appointment with my client anymore? You just show up. You forget that he has a lawyer?”

  “We didn’t forget,” Samuelson said. “We don’t have to tell you and we don’t need your permission. It’s all in the deal Mr. Fish signed. He belongs to us. You’re welcome to stay, but don’t interfere.”

  “It’s all right,” Fish said. “They haven’t asked me to confess to anything else and I have no secrets left anyway.”

  Mason didn’t like it but knew that didn’t matter. It would be a problem for Fish’s next lawyer, something he would have to wait to explain to Fish.

  “Who’s covering the bank?” Mason asked.

  “Kelly Holt is inside the bank with two other agents. Dennis Brewer is in a van across the street,” Samuelson said. “Plus we’ve got backup in the parking lot. That money isn’t going anywhere except back in the vault.”

  “That’s her,” Fish said. “That’s Sylvia.”

  A small, slender woman wearing a winter coat and gloves appeared on the screen, the high angle of the camera distorting her image. She
was in the lobby of the bank. Mason looked at his watch. It was 2:45 P.M.

  “She’s early,” he said.

  Fish smiled. “Like I told you—either early or late, but never exactly on time. Watch what she does. She’ll take a tour of the lobby.”

  “What’s that she’s carrying?” Mason asked

  Samuelson leaned into the screen. “Bring that up,” he told the technician, who enlarged the picture.

  Sylvia was carrying a large shopping bag adorned with images of famous books. She set the bag on the floor next to a round countertop where customers could fill out deposit slips.

  “Get me inside that bag,” Samuelson instructed the technician, who cycled through the bank’s cameras until he found the one that was directly over the countertop, zooming in until the contents of the bag were visible.

  “Books,” Mason said. “It’s a bag of books.”

  A man entered the picture, but the overhead camera didn’t capture his features. Sylvia picked up the bag and the two of them walked toward the desk nearest the vault holding the safety deposit boxes. The technician switched cameras again, this time getting a head-on view of Mickey and Sylvia.

  “Where the hell is the volume?” Samuelson snapped. “Why can’t we hear what they’re saying?”

  “I’m on it,” the technician said, his fingers racing across the keyboard. He put on a set of headphones and twirled the dials on the speakers. “Either the transmitter is dead or she’s jamming it.”

  Samuelson picked up a two-way radio. “Brewer, Holt,” he said. “We’re calling it off. The audio isn’t working. We’ve got no ears.”

  “I know,” Brewer said, his voice audible to all of them. “We’re not getting anything either. But you can’t call it off. She’ll know it was a setup and we’re finished. Besides, we’ve still got the cameras.”

  “There are private viewing rooms inside the vault. No cameras in there,” the technician said. “We’ll be deaf, dumb, and blind if they use one of those.”

  “The kid is with her,” Brewer said. “He’s our eyes and ears.”

  They stared at the computer monitor. Mickey was signing the safety deposit box register.

  “This is my call,” Samuelson said. “It’s off. Arrest her.”

  “For what?” Kelly asked. “She hasn’t done anything. They’re in the vault now anyway. I’ll take the responsibility.”

  Samuelson turned pale, his bald head beading with sweat. “Agent Holt, I’m ordering you to call this off.”

  “I don’t take orders from you. Call your boss. Let him decide if he wants to blow up this investigation.”

  Samuelson slammed the radio onto the kitchen table, whipped out his cell phone, and marched into the living room. Fish, Mason, and the technician watched the monitor, the camera trained on the inside of the vault. Mickey opened the safety deposit box, removed it, and carried it into a private room with Sylvia behind him.

  Mason watched the timer at the bottom of the screen tick off five and half minutes until the door opened again. Mickey returned the safety deposit box and locked it. He went back to the private room and came out again carrying Sylvia’s bag. She followed, closing the door behind her. Samuelson returned just as they exited the vault, sporting a paler shade of pale with matching stooped shoulders.

  “Did you reach the U.S. attorney?” Mason asked.

  “He was in conference,” Samuelson said. “I told his secretary it was urgent. She said she’d mention that to him.”

  Sylvia stopped at the countertop again, buttoning her coat and pulling on her gloves. Mickey stopped alongside her, setting the bag on the floor. Samuelson started to speak, but the technician cut him off.

  “I got it,” he said, switching to the overhead camera, zooming in on the books.

  “Thank God,” Samuelson said.

  “God doesn’t play these games,” Fish said. “But He likes to watch.”

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  The bank’s camera followed Mickey and Sylvia out the door before losing them to the street.

  Samuelson grabbed the radio. “Brewer, do you have them?”

  “Big as life. She’s getting in a minivan. The kid is waving good-bye.”

  “Follow her,” Samuelson said, “just in case.”

  “We’re pulling out now,” Brewer said. “She’s northbound on Main at the traffic light. It just turned green.”

  “Maintain radio contact,” Samuelson said. “I want to know every turn she takes.”

  “Relax, we’ve got her,” Brewer said an instant before screaming, “Look out, you crazy son of a bitch!”

  Samuelson held the radio at arm’s length, the sound of crying tires and crunched steel making his hand shake. He pulled the radio back to his mouth.

  “Brewer! What’s happening? Holt, what the hell is going on?”

  Kelly’s voice broke in over the radio. “Some asshole ran a red light and broadsided Brewer’s van.”

  “Is anybody hurt?” Samuelson asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Kelly said.

  “What about Sylvia McBride?” Samuelson asked.

  “She got away. I’ve got to go before Brewer takes out the guy who hit him. You better get down here.”

  Samuelson raced out of the house. Mason followed him, Fish telling him he would be along in a few minutes. By the time Mason arrived, the intersection was clogged with police, tow trucks, and an ambulance. The contingent of FBI agents was gathered on the sidewalk in a tight circle surrounding Mickey. They stood outside the entrance to the bank watching the cops work.

  Dennis Brewer and Kelly Holt peeled away from their group when they saw Samuelson approach. Mason caught up to them in the middle of the street.

  “I thought you said no one was hurt,” Samuelson said to Kelly.

  “The other driver claimed he had a seizure that made him black out and run the light. The cops called an ambulance to take him to a hospital to get checked out.”

  “What a mess,” Samuelson said with a deep sigh. “At least the money is safe.”

  “Well,” Kelly said. “Not all of it.”

  Samuelson blanched. “What do you mean, not all of it?”

  “I mean Sylvia took a little over eight hundred and fifty thousand. It was all she could fit in her bag and still cover the top of it with a few books.”

  “You’re kidding me!” Samuelson said. “What the hell was Mickey doing?”

  Kelly smiled. “He packed it up for her. The kid would make a good sacker at a grocery store.”

  Mason shot a look at Mickey, who raised his cuffed hands in greeting. He started toward him when Kelly put her hand out. “You’ll have to wait here,” she said.

  “What for?” he demanded.

  “Where’s Fish?” she asked.

  “On his way,” Mason said. “I’m going to talk with Mickey.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “I’m his lawyer,” Mason said. “You can’t stop me.”

  “We have a rule, Counselor,” Kelly said. “We don’t let suspects talk to one another until we’re done talking to them separately.”

  “Suspects? What the hell are you talking about?” Mason asked.

  “I told you that Fish was going to try to steal the money. You didn’t believe me, and you let him suck you and Mickey into his scam.”

  “Have you gone completely nuts? Exactly how were any of us involved in stealing the money?”

  “Mickey said Fish called him on his cell phone while he and Sylvia were in the private room. He told Mickey there had been a change in plans and that he was supposed to let Sylvia take as much of the money as she could stuff into the bag.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. Fish didn’t make that call. Samuelson and your technician were with us the entire time. They’ll tell you that. Pete, tell her,” Mason said.

  Samuelson shook his head. “We were set up in the kitchen, but I was in the living room trying to reach Roosevelt Holmes when Mickey and Sylvia were in the vault. I
’ll call the tech and ask him if Fish left the kitchen,” he said, stepping away.

  Mason said, “Mickey’s story doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That’s exactly why I don’t want you talking to him. If that’s his story, I’m going to make him stick with it. At this point, all three of you are suspects.”

  Samuelson rejoined them. “The tech said Fish was in the kitchen the entire time Mickey and Sylvia were in the vault so he couldn’t have made the call. He also said Fish left the house right after Mason did. He should be here by now.”

  “Then where is he?” Kelly asked, hands on her hips, her chin aimed at Mason.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know? Look, either arrest me or get out of my way,” Mason said, glaring at Kelly, needing both hands to count the different faces she had shown him.

  Kelly returned Mason’s heat, her chest heaving slightly. Samuelson stepped between them, pointing a finger at Kelly.

  “You don’t have probable cause to arrest Mason. You do have enough to take Mickey in for questioning, but if you deny him his right to counsel, nothing you get from him will be admissible in court. Plus, Mason knows I told you to cancel the operation and that you blew me off. What do you think he’ll do to you when he gets you on the stand? On top of that, he’ll make me testify that this was the second time today that you disregarded my advice. If you would have listened the first time, there wouldn’t have been a second time.”

  Kelly’s eyes now blazed on Samuelson, but he didn’t back down. She’d pulled rank on him when he told her to call off the operation. Now he’d outflanked her with a deft maneuver that forced Mason to reconsider his appraisal of the assistant U.S. attorney.

  “What about Fish?” she asked Samuelson. “Do we have your permission to take him in for questioning?”

  Samuelson nodded, ignoring her sarcasm. “Absolutely, based on Mickey’s statement that Fish called him and told him to let Sylvia have the money.”

  Kelly said to Brewer, “Tell one of the other agents to work with the police on an APB for Fish. I want him found fast. Tell the others to take Mickey to the detention center at the Federal Courthouse.” Turning to Mason, she said, “You can talk to him there. With any luck, we’ll have Fish in custody by then and save you a second trip.”