by Joel Goldman
“See you there,” Mason told her. He crossed the street to the sidewalk, stepping into the circle of FBI agents who cut him off from Mickey. “Back off,” Mason told them. “I need to speak with my client.”
The agents exchanged looks with Kelly and Brewer, who were watching from the middle of the street, then widened the perimeter around Mason and Mickey, giving them space without giving them a way out.
“What the hell is this?” Mickey asked, lifting his cuffed wrists. “Fish called me and said there’d been a change in the plan. He said I was supposed to let her take the money.”
“Keep your voice down. I never gave Fish your cell phone number. Did you?”
Mickey’s face reddened. “Shit! I am too stupid to live.”
“We’ll see,” Mason said in a low whisper. “They’re going to take you to the Federal Courthouse. I’ll get there as soon as I can, but I may have to send someone else for a little while. In the meantime, don’t answer any questions and don’t try to win any votes.”
Mason called his Aunt Claire from the car and gave her a quick rundown on what had happened.
“Can you go the Federal Courthouse and hold Mickey’s hand until I can line up someone to represent him?”
“Of course. But, aren’t you going to be his lawyer?”
Claire had raised him to do the right thing, often telling him that recognizing it was a lot harder than doing it. It was the single highest virtue in her world. He had yet to tell her that he wouldn’t be representing Mickey or anyone else for quite a while because he had fallen short of her standards. He owed her an explanation in person, not over the phone.
“There may be a conflict of interest with my representation of Avery Fish. I’ll call B. J. Moore. He’s almost as good as I am,” Mason said, hoping the joke would distract Claire.
She didn’t laugh. “You’ve got enough to do. I’ll call B.J.”
“Thanks.”
“Lou,” she said, a fresh concern in her voice. “Is there anything else?”
She was his aunt, not his mother, but she had a mother’s intuition, sensing when there was something else. She often told him that she could see it in his eyes or hear it in his voice. Sometimes, she said, she could just feel it.
“Yeah. I’ll tell you about it as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be here,” she said.
SEVENTY-FIVE
The subconscious mind was the brain’s buried treasure. It was where memories, dreams, and other evanescent flotsam and jetsam lay hidden until synapses short-circuited, allowing a particle of past knowledge to escape and pop into one’s head. Sometimes a song lyric became lodged against an ear, looping over and over. Sometimes it was the starting lineup of the 1963 Dodgers. Sometimes it was a scene from a movie.
As Mason drove away from the bank, he had such a moment, flashing on another scene from Animal House, the one where a member of the fraternity takes a freshman pledge to the grocery, throwing items over his shoulder to the pledge, who tries to keep up, catching as many as he can, until he is finally overwhelmed and slides to the floor in surrender. The frat boy doesn’t care whether the pledge catches a single thing. He just wants to keep the pledge’s hands full.
Mason felt like the pledge when he realized that Kelly was throwing as many things as possible at him so that he couldn’t keep up with her. He was certain that Mickey was telling the truth about the phone call and he was equally sure that Fish hadn’t made the call. The combination was enough to get Mickey arrested and an APB issued for Fish, both of which would tie Mason up long enough that she and Brewer could finish what they’d started—whatever that was.
He focused on the call he knew Fish had made to Sylvia McBride setting everything in motion. Kelly had been there and had heard Fish reminisce about how his late great friend Wayne could mimic Fish’s voice well enough to fool Sylvia. Fooling Mickey, who barely knew Fish, would have been easy. Kelly could have obtained Mickey’s cell phone number simply by flashing her FBI badge and invoking the Patriot Act.
All of which made Kelly and Webb, nee McBride, partners in a bank robbery. Hardly a matter of national security and hardly worth the risk. But there it was. Kelly had set him, along with Fish and Mickey, up to take the fall for the robbery.
Along the way, Rockley, Keegan, and Hill had been murdered and Judge Carter had been blackmailed. As the day wound toward dusk, Mason couldn’t get away from Al Webb as the trigger man. Rockley and Keegan must have turned on him, or given him reason to think they had, and he killed them. Mark Hill must have gotten drunk enough to go after Webb to avenge his wife’s honor and met the same fate. Webb also had to be the blackmailer despite his protest that he had nothing to gain since the other likely candidates were dead and the blackmailer was still pushing Judge Carter’s buttons.
The pieces didn’t fit perfectly together, but criminals were not models of rational behavior. While economists contrive mathematical models to explain what rational people should do, real people persist in their refusal to act as predicted. The models fail because they are stripped of the emotions that drive people to buy high and sell low. Or, in the case of blackmailers and murderers, sell out and kill often.
The rational thing for Mason to do was to get Mickey released and spend a quiet night with Abby. By the time Fish turned up, he’d have a new lawyer in place for him as well. But there was one other thing left on his day’s agenda. He was to meet Al Webb and Lila Collins at the house at Lake Lotawana. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be alone when he called Blues and told him to meet him there.
That evening, as he was on the way to the Lake, Rachel Firestone called him. “What did you do to Vanessa Carter?” she asked.
He knew that she wouldn’t have asked him the question unless she’d already talked to Detective Griswold or to Judge Carter. Griswold wasn’t a talker and Judge Carter wouldn’t have been either except that Mason had told her he was going to give the story to Rachel.
“What did she tell you?”
“An absolutely unbelievable story about you, Blues, and Ed Fiori. She said that you asked Fiori to pressure her into releasing Blues on bail when he was charged with murder; that she didn’t know anything about it and released Blues anyway. She says that Fiori taped his conversation with you and somebody at Galaxy ended up with the tape and is using it to blackmail you to blackmail her to rule in Galaxy’s favor in Carol Hill’s sexual harassment case. Jesus Christ, Lou,” she added, out of breath. “You can’t make that up.”
“She didn’t make it up. It’s true.”
“In case you forgot, I covered Blues’s case. Judge Carter granted bail for Blues, then she quit the bench without saying boo to anybody. When it happened, I asked you why she released Blues and then quit and you said you didn’t know.”
“I lied,” Mason said. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s it? You lied, you’re sorry.”
“I couldn’t tell you then. I was going to tell you today, but I haven’t had a chance.”
“Judge Carter said you told her that you were going to give the story to me. She figured you had already talked to me and wanted to make certain that I knew she hadn’t been blackmailed then or now.”
Mason knew the story would erase any doubts Rachel’s editor had about her loyalty and commitment to the paper. If there was an upside to his predicament, that was it.
“She’s telling the truth. Print the story. I’ve already told the police. The prosecutor is probably preparing an indictment with my name on it.”
Mason parked on the side of a gas station across the street from the Lake Lotawana police department and waited for Blues, who pulled up just before seven, driving his pickup, signaling Mason to follow him. Mason fell in line behind the pickup, trailing Blues onto a service road that disappeared into the woods far away from any houses. Blues got out of the pickup and slid into the passenger side of Mason’s SUV.
“I called you an hour ago,” Mason said. “Where have you been?”
“
Peeking in people’s windows. I figured we’re headed into trouble and I like to see it before it sees me.”
“Kelly told me the same thing a few days ago.”
“I thought we might be back after our last trip out here so I looked at some maps. The house Webb is using is on L Street, which T-bones into a long, narrow cul-de-sac. This service road feeds into a bike path that comes out at the opposite end of the cul-de-sac from Webb’s house. Since no one is home at the other houses, it was easy to get close without being seen.”
“What did you find out?”
“Lot of lights on in that house. Webb was there.”
“What about Lila Collins? Dark hair, thin, mid-forties.”
“I saw two women. One of them was older, late fifties, carrying a bag with both hands like it was real heavy.”
“That’s Sylvia McBride. The money she stole from the bank is in that bag.”
“The other woman was younger. Could have been Lila, but I couldn’t see her face too well. Sylvia and Webb had to hold her up like she was sick or drunk.”
“What did they do with her?”
“Last I saw, they took her out on the deck and down a set of stairs and locked her in a storage room underneath the deck.”
“You’ve got to get her out. Webb is expecting me at seven. I’ll keep him occupied.”
“There’s another problem,” Blues said.
“I know. Sylvia. I’ll have to play that by ear. Maybe Webb will keep her out of sight.”
“She’s not the problem. Avery Fish is. He showed up just as I was leaving.”
Mason slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Damn! Kelly was right. Fish was in on the robbery. He told me that the mark never feels the hook until it’s in too deep. He was talking about me. I let that old man con me. I don’t believe it!”
“How do you want to play this?”
“I’ll knock on the front door. You rescue Lila.”
“You got another plan after I rescue Lila or am I going to have to come back and rescue you too?”
“Might as well. I’d hate for you to feel left out.”
SEVENTY-SIX
Fish’s rental car was parked in front of the house. Mason opened the driver’s door looking for any hint that Fish was there for a reason other than to split the pot. He found a receipt on the floor from a sporting goods store that Mason had passed on the highway. According to the time printed on the receipt, Fish had made his purchase less than an hour ago. The timing bothered Mason as much as the description of what Fish had purchased—a box of .38 caliber ammunition.
When Mason rang the bell, Webb opened the door wide enough to see who was there. Mason shoved it all the way open and walked past Webb into a large den with a vaulted, wood-beam ceiling. The sofa, chairs, tables, and rug had a fresh, barely lived-in look. The whole place had the feel of a safe house, not a home.
The far wall was all glass, opening to the deck. The kitchen was to his right. There was a darkened hallway to his left that he assumed led to bedrooms.
He didn’t see Sylvia, Fish, or a bag full of money. He took a slow pass around the den, luring Webb to follow until he had a view of the lake and Webb’s back was to the deck. It was the best he could do to make certain Webb wouldn’t see Blues.
“Where’s Lila?” Mason asked.
“I told you,” Webb said. “She’s ill. She didn’t come to work today.”
“Then why was her car in the parking lot?”
“She got sick yesterday. She couldn’t drive so I took her home.”
Mason knew he wouldn’t get anywhere trading lies with Webb. He had to buy time until Blues could free Lila.
“Then we’ve got nothing to talk about. I’ll just go to the police, tell them about your blackmail scheme, and you can do business with them. Of course, you can’t blame the cops if they’re more interested in the three murders you committed and the money you robbed from the bank.”
“I thought you were only obsessed with blackmail. Now I see that you are completely out of your mind. I didn’t blackmail the judge. I didn’t kill anyone and I don’t know anything about a bank robbery.”
“Killing Rockley and Keegan makes a certain amount of sense if they were about to give you up. You might catch a break on Mark Hill if you claim self-defense. But I think you’re screwed on the bank robbery.”
“Blackmail, murder, and bank robbery. Who do you think I am?”
“I know who you are,” Mason said, walking down the hall leading to the bedrooms. “Fish! C’mon on out and bring Sylvia with you.”
The first door down the hall opened and Fish stepped out. Sylvia McBride was next, turning on the hallway light. She darted past Fish, barely giving Mason a glance as she joined her husband. The color had drained from Fish’s face and his breathing was labored. He lumbered past Mason, bracing himself with one hand against the wall. Mason caught him by the elbow.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Never better, boytchik.”
Kelly Holt followed Fish, a gun in one hand, the bag of money in the other.
“Hello, Counselor,” she said. “Like they say in the movies, put your hands up.”
“You were in this all the time,” he said, raising his hands.
“From the beginning. Now let’s join the others,” she said, directing him with the gun.
Fish sat in a chair barely big enough to contain him, one hand on his chest, sweat pooling in the folds of his cheeks and neck. Sylvia stood next to Webb. Two shadows appeared on the deck and Webb quickly unlocked the sliding door, pulling it open as Dennis Brewer shoved Blues into the den, his gun inches from the back of Blues’s head.
“Facedown on the floor; hands behind your back,” Brewer said to Blues.
Blues looked at Mason, shaking his head in apology, and laid down. Brewer holstered his gun and pressed his knee against Blues’s spine, lashing Blues’s wrists with plastic cuffs. Finished, he stood and pointed to Mason.
“You’re next,” he said and then repeated the procedure.
“Put them downstairs with Lila,” Kelly said.
“What about him?” Brewer said, pointing to Fish. “Should we cuff him?”
“What for? He’s harmless,” Kelly said. “Put him with the others.”
“Why don’t you kill them and get it over with?” Webb asked.
“Because,” Kelly said, “having four bodies turn up at this house may not be in our collective best interests. We’ll get rid of them, but not here and not together.”
Brewer marched them down the deck stairs and deposited them in the storage room with Lila Collins, who lay on the floor unconscious, knees to her chest, her head on one arm, the other covering her face. The floor and walls were bare concrete. The deck provided the ceiling. The room was empty except for them.
A single bulb hung from the ceiling. Brewer turned the light on long enough to make certain the cuffs on Mason and Blues were secure, then shattered the bulb with the barrel of his gun, leaving them in the dark as he locked the wooden door behind him.
Mason felt his way to Lila, sitting next to her and bumping her gently until she moaned softly.
“They drugged her,” Blues said.
“You were supposed to rescue her.”
“I had her in my arms when Brewer showed up. He didn’t give me a chance.”
Mason sat next to her. “Lila. Lila, wake up.”
“Let her be,” Fish said, his words and breath coming slowly. He had slid to the floor and was propped against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. “Sylvia said she’d come out of it soon.”
“I’m glad the two of you had a nice chat. What in the hell are you doing here?” Mason asked him.
“I came for the money,” Fish said.
“All of it or just your cut?”
“All of it.”
“Too greedy. If you’d been satisfied with your cut, you’d still be upstairs with them instead of downstairs with us.”
“I
s that what you think, boytchik? That I helped them steal the money?”
“Mickey said you called him while he was in the vault with Sylvia and told him to let her take the money.”
“You were with me. You know I didn’t make the call. Wayne must have imitated my voice. The whole thing was actually very nicely done. I especially liked the car wreck. I’ll bet anything that other driver walked out of the hospital the first chance he got.”
“If you weren’t involved, how did you know Sylvia would bring the money here?” Blues asked.
“After Lou told me that Wayne was using this house, it was a good guess. I thought if I could get them to give the money back, it would settle my account with the government.”
“Did you really think they would just give it to you?” Mason asked.
Fish laughed, gasping at the effort. “Even I’m not that good of a con man. I had a gun. But that Kelly Holt took it away from me.”
Mason felt a surge of affection for the old man, mixed with guilt at having been so quick to condemn him. “You did good, Avery.”
“Well, boytchik, doing good is something new for me. I thought I’d give it a try while I still had the chance,” Fish said, struggling to get the words out.
“Take it easy. We’ll get you out of here.”
“Of course you will,” Fish rasped. “Such a good lawyer I’ve got.”
Blues felt his way along the wall until he came to the door, feeling the lock in the dark. “Damn,” he said. “Can’t pick the lock from this side even if I could see what I was doing. We’re stuck here until they come and get us.”
The sliding door overhead opened and two people walked across the deck and down the stairs.
“Won’t be long,” Mason said as he and Blues backed themselves against the wall opposite the door.
SEVENTY-SEVEN