by Joel Goldman
Brewer made it up on all fours, shaking the cobwebs from his head. Blues was about to kick him in the ribs when Kelly fired a shot at his feet. Blues whirled around toward Kelly, measuring his chances.
“The next one goes in your knee, Bluestone,” she said.
Brewer staggered to his feet, gathered himself, and walked up to Blues. Without a word, he slammed his fist into Blues’s solar plexus. When Blues folded up, he hit him hard in the back of the neck with a two-handed blow, dropping him in the grass. He took a step toward Mason, drawing his gun.
“Not yet,” Kelly said. “Get Webb and his wife out of here and don’t forget the money. Somebody may have heard that shot and called the police.”
“What about them?” Brewer asked.
“Leave that to me, darling,” Kelly said.
Brewer kissed her hard on the mouth. “You are something else, Agent Holt.”
Mason and Blues managed to sit up as Brewer went back in the house.
“Stay where you are,” Kelly said, pointing her gun at them when they started to stand.
“Is this what you meant when you told me things weren’t what they looked like between you and Brewer?” Mason asked.
“Keep your voice down,” Kelly said, glancing over her shoulder at the house.
“Afraid the neighbors will hear?” Mason asked.
“For once in your life, just shut up, Lou!”
One by one, the lights in the house went out. A moment later, Brewer, Webb, and Sylvia climbed into the car parked in the carport. Brewer gave Kelly a final wave before they drove away.
When their taillights disappeared, Kelly walked over to Mason. “On your belly.”
“No thanks. You’re going to have to look me in the eye.”
“That’s the way you want it?”
“That’s the way I want it.”
“Fine by me, but it’s harder that way.” She stuck her gun in her waistband, took the handcuff key from her pocket, and wrapped her arms around Mason. “Been a while since we’ve been this close, Counselor,” she said as she unlocked his cuffs and handed him the key. “You take care of Blues and I’ll check on Lila.”
Mason looked at her, not trusting her or his eyes. She patted him on the cheek and he grabbed her wrist.
“Whose side are you on?” he asked her.
“Mine.”
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Blues prowled through the house to make certain no one had stayed behind. He and Mason carried Lila and Fish inside and laid them down in separate bedrooms.
Back in the den, Mason and Kelly stood facing one another. Mason saw a woman he once thought he’d loved, a woman whose life he’d saved and who had saved his life. Still, he didn’t know her and wasn’t certain whether he even recognized her.
“Let’s have it,” Mason said.
Kelly ran her hands through her hair like she was trying to pull off a mask. Nothing changed except her features softened with weariness and relief.
“The FBI asked me to come back a few years ago. They’d been burnt by too many agents who had been bought by drug dealers or foreign governments. They told me my background would give them an edge.”
“Because you had had a partner who was dirty and that made you suspect as well?”
“The higher-ups wanted someone they could send in to work with agents who were under the microscope. Even though I was cleared, they made sure I still had a bad reputation when I came back. I played on that by looking the other way, dropping a hint that I was open to something extra. If the agent reported me, we backed off. If the agent invited me to the party, we ran out the string.”
“Why go back? Why put yourself through that?”
“When my partner went down, he took part of me with him. I wanted that back.”
“Was Brewer one of the bad boys?”
“Very bad. We tried to nail him a few years ago, but we couldn’t get anything solid.”
“Was that when the two of you raided Ed Fiori’s office right after he was killed?”
Kelly nodded. “Brewer claimed he was working a confidential source inside Fiori’s organization, but we suspected he was on Fiori’s payroll. We had heard a rumor about Fiori’s taping system and, when Fiori was killed, Brewer said he wanted to check out whether his source was incriminated on the tapes.”
“And you wanted to know if Brewer was on the tapes,” Mason said.
“There was no informant. Brewer was after the same thing. There were only a handful of tapes left when we got there and Brewer wasn’t on them. Fiori’s nephew, Vince Bongiovanni, had gotten there ahead of us and taken most of the tapes. When we asked him for the tapes, he said he had destroyed them out of respect for his uncle’s memory.”
Mason almost asked her if she had found the tape of his meeting with Ed Fiori, but let it go. It didn’t matter anymore since his confessionals with Detective Griswold and Rachel Firestone.
“Bongiovanni told me he kept the tapes. I have a feeling he may have used some of them to settle a few of his cases,” Mason said.
“Comes as no surprise. My bosses in D.C. thought Al Webb and Brewer would be a good match. I hadn’t worked with him since Fiori died. We were both assigned to the investigation. He was already working on Fish’s case. Brewer came on to me and I didn’t discourage him,” she said, looking away. “I just pretended he was someone else.”
Mason took a deep breath. He didn’t want to ask who but was glad she didn’t dismiss her relationship with Brewer with a goes with the territory nonchalance.
“Brewer reached out to Webb,” Kelly continued, “and let him know he was available at the right price. Webb lowballed him and Brewer threatened to bust him on the spot. Then Webb came up with the conversations between Brewer and Fiori on a CD and Brewer took the money.”
“Did Webb get the CD from Bongiovanni?” Mason asked.
“I doubt it. Webb and Bongiovanni hate each other. Webb must have found a secret stash of Fiori’s tapes that we had missed. That’s when Brewer asked if I wanted in. He said if we got the tape, we could level the playing field with Webb and become his partners instead of his employees. I told him yes.”
“Webb gave the CD to his lawyer for safekeeping,” Mason said. It was a guess, but he made it a fact. Kelly didn’t deny it. “Which one of you stole it?”
“You’re lucky it was me. Brewer would have killed you and Lari Prillman.”
“Did Webb cut you in?”
“He wasn’t happy about it, but he did.”
“That’s a lot just to nail an agent that’s in the bag for a guy skimming from a casino.”
“Skimming and bribery are crimes, Counselor.”
“So is selling fake IDs to terrorists,” Mason said.
SEVENTY-NINE
Kelly’s eyes widened. “What do you know about that?” “I know that Sylvia McBride uses her call center as a front for phony IDs. I know that she supplied IDs to her husband, Wayne, so he could become Al Webb and to her step-nephew, Tommy Corcoran, who became Charles Rockley. Johnny Keegan was her nephew. All he needed was a resume. I know that the FBI’s files on the family are off-limits on the grounds of national security. The rest is just a matter of connecting the dots.”
“One thing the terrorists learned from nine-eleven was to be patient,” Kelly said. “They want to set up sleeper cells in this country. That takes more than fake IDs; it takes complete covers-job histories, residential histories, family histories. More than that, they need people to front for them whose names and skin color don’t match a Homeland Security risk profile. Sylvia and Webb were running a nice little ID scam. They hooked up with a Saudi Arabian charity and took the operation international.”
“Why did you drag Fish into all of this?” Mason asked.
“We needed him to set up the bank robbery.”
“Why not just give Sylvia and her husband the money?” Blues asked.
“I told you that Webb wasn’t happy to have Brewer and me as his partners. Webb’s overs
eas partners were even less happy. They demanded proof that we really had changed teams. We couldn’t blow up a building for them and we don’t kill people. Then Fish fell into our laps when Rockley was murdered. His connection to Webb was too good an opportunity to pass up. Our charity sponsors liked the bank robbery.”
“Who leaked Rockley’s ID to Rachel Firestone?” Mason asked.
“The initial leak came from outside the Bureau, but Brewer confirmed it. He figured it was coming out soon enough anyway. I chewed his ass out if that makes any difference.”
“Not much. Who took Blues’s picture outside Rockley’s apartment?” Mason asked.
“Johnny Keegan. When Rockley disappeared, Webb sent Johnny to look for him. He took Blues’s picture with a camera phone and e-mailed it to Webb. We were monitoring Webb’s e-mail. That added to the pressure on Fish to work with us because it made him look guilty.”
“Fish didn’t kill Rockley; Webb did. So why would Webb send Johnny to look for Rockley?” Mason asked.
“Webb didn’t kill him or Johnny. Like I told you, Webb didn’t trust many people, but he trusted those boys because they were family and he needed them for his operation. Plus, Brewer and I can alibi him for both murders.”
“How do I know you’re not covering up for Webb in the name of national security?” Mason asked.
“You’re just going to have to trust me. In any case, the robbery did the trick. Webb is taking us to meet his contact.”
“I’m glad everything worked out so well for you. Too bad I can’t say the same thing for Fish,” Mason said.
“Fish had a heart attack. That wasn’t our fault. He should have stayed home.”
“That’s an easy out,” Mason said. “All you cared about was your investigation. If someone gets hurt or dies, you toss that off as collateral damage.”
“You should know, Counselor. You’re pretty good at that yourself. You’re the one who dragged Lila into this case. Webb caught her on his computer. It didn’t take much to get her to tell him she was doing a favor for you.”
Mason felt a flash of heat in his face. Kelly was right about Lila. He could add her to the list with Vanessa Carter. He was about to pay his debt to Judge Carter and would have to find a way to make it up to Lila.
Kelly’s cell phone rang. She looked at the screen, ignoring the call.
“Brewer?” Mason asked.
“Yeah. We don’t have much time.” Kelly stood up. “Get up and hit me,” she said, pointing to her chin.
Mason stood, his arms at his side. “I’m not going to hit you.”
“Look, if you don’t hit me, Brewer and Webb aren’t going to believe that you escaped without my help. You’re right about one thing. This investigation is more important than me or you or any other collateral damage. I’m going underground and tracing this ID network as far as it goes. I can’t take the chance that my case falls apart because you don’t have the stomach to hit a woman.”
“Get out of my way,” Blues said, pushing Mason to the side and dropping Kelly with a hard left hand. “You people talk so much it makes my head hurt.”
Mason helped Kelly onto the sofa, cupping her chin in his hand until her eyes focused. The right side of her face was red and swelling fast. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. He wiped it with his sleeve. She draped her arm over his shoulder and pulled him close.
“I want you to know something,” she whispered.
“I know. It could have been Brewer instead of you.”
“Not what I mean,” she managed. “That night in Fiori’s office, I found some of the tapes. Brewer was in another room. I took them with me to listen to later. You were on the tapes talking to Fiori about Blues and Judge Carter. There was also a call from Fiori to the judge.”
Mason stared at her, unable to move. “It was you?” he finally said. “You were the blackmailer. Was that another chip you tossed onto the table for Webb?”
She shook her head and sat up, rubbing her jaw. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I burnt the tape after I listened to it.”
Mason heard voices for the second time that night. This time it was Vanessa Carter telling him that they had a problem, followed by Fish reminding him that the mark never feels the hook until it’s in too deep. Fish had warned him, but the hook was in too deep for Mason to understand.
“Why did you do that?”
“Blues was innocent. The judge was already compromised. It didn’t matter and I didn’t want you to end up as collateral damage.”
“Why tell me about it now?”
“I saw the look on your face when I told you about Brewer’s tape. Besides, this way you’ll know that I’m not as bad as they will say I am. Now get out of here.”
EIGHTY
Mason drove Fish’s rental car, with Fish’s body lying in the backseat, to Fish’s house. The charge of mail fraud and the suspicion of murder would be buried with his client. Mason wanted more for him than that. He wanted Fish’s daughters to believe their father had died peacefully in his own home, his debts paid in full, their memories of him not tainted by murder. That meant finding Charles Rockley’s killer. Though Fish had no connection to the murders of Johnny Keegan and Mark Hill, Mason’s gut told him they were dominoes that fell when Rockley’s body hit the ground.
Blues followed in his pickup with Lila, awake but still groggy, riding shotgun. They were surprised that a police car wasn’t parked in front of Fish’s house after the APB had been issued for him.
They sat Fish in his easy chair, expecting that his body would be found in the morning by the housekeeper or perhaps by one of his daughters. His death would be classified as unattended, requiring an autopsy that would reveal his body had been moved after he had died. There would be questions to answer, but no crime had been committed.
After another trip to Lake Lotawana to pick up his SUV, Mason took Lila home. She rejected Mason’s apologies, insisting she’d known what she was getting into and making her own apology for getting caught.
“I would have gotten away with it,” she said, “if I had quit after I found the e-mail Johnny sent to Mr. Webb, but I kept poking around. Mr. Webb had an e-mail folder for travel. He had made a reservation for Johnny to go to New York and then make a connection to Saudi Arabia.”
“When was he supposed to leave?” Mason asked.
“Last Saturday,” she said. “The day after he was killed. The weird thing about it was it was a one-way ticket. Johnny was leaving and he wasn’t coming back.”
“Why were you so curious?”
“I know this makes me a real bitch, but me and Johnny had been spending time together again. He said he was finished with Carol Hill, but he didn’t tell me he was leaving. It made me wonder if he told her.”
It made Mason wonder too. It was after midnight when he left Lila’s house. He called Samantha Greer on her cell phone.
“Things are going crazy around here, Lou. What do you want?”
“Did you get a ballistics report yet on the bullet that killed Mark Hill?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Do me a favor. Check for a match with the bullet that killed Johnny Keegan.”
“Do you know something I should know?”
“Carol Hill was cheating on her husband with Keegan. Her husband was beating the crap out of her.”
“That I know. Carol may have killed her husband for beating her, but why would she kill her lover?”
“Because he dumped her for someone else and he was leaving the country on a one-way ticket,” Mason said.
“What about Rockley?” Samantha asked. “You think she went for the hat trick?”
“Carol says he raped her.”
“Even so, I don’t see Carol cutting him up.”
“She didn’t. I’m betting Keegan did. He knew about the connection between Fish and Webb and dumped Rockley’s body in the trunk of Fish’s car to throw suspicion at Fish.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What
connection between Fish and Webb?”
“It’s complicated. Ask the FBI.”
“We’re being overrun by the FBI at the moment and the lab doesn’t open until seven o’clock. It’ll have to wait till morning.”
“What’s with the FBI invasion?”
“You won’t believe this. The bank robbery was an inside job. The two agents-what were their names? Brewer and Holt-set the whole thing up. The feds released Mickey and want our help catching their agents. We cancelled the APB on Fish. Be sure you tell him.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.”
“One other thing,” Samantha said. “Griswold told me about your come-to-Jesus session. You didn’t leave him much choice. He had to take it to the prosecuting attorney.”
“I know. Any word from Ortiz on what he’s going to do?”
“Ortiz doesn’t have much choice either. Hard to give a criminal defense lawyer a pass at the same time a couple of FBI agents make the Ten Most Wanted list. Are you going to be all right?”
“It’s no hill for a climber. Call me in the morning when you get the ballistic results.”
EIGHTY-ONE
Mason parked across the street from Carol Hill’s house just as the morning sun was burning the horizon. He’d managed a few hours of sleep, enough to sort out what he thought had happened. If he were right, this would be his only chance to hear it from Carol.
Lights came on inside the house at seven-thirty. Carol opened her front door and a puppy bolted outside, sniffing the crisp air. She was wearing a robe and slippers and padded down the driveway to pick up her newspaper. Mason waited until she was at the curb before he got out of his car.
“Nice morning,” he said to her.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” she said. Her hair was tangled from sleep and her eyes were puffy from having just woken up.
“I don’t blame you. I’ve got a busy day and wanted to be sure I caught you. It’s about Johnny Keegan.”