by Joel Goldman
“What did Cullan say?”
Amy pawed the snow at her sides as her face slackened into a dull, exhausted gaze. “He laughed at me and told me to give him the file. I took the gun out and he kept laughing, so I shot him. Then I turned off the heat, opened the windows, and went home.”
Mason studied her, searched her suddenly detached face for a hint of meaning. She leaned against her father’s headstone, reaching idly toward her mother’s to dust the snow from the channels of her mother’s engraved name.
“What did you do with the gun?”
Amy stood, brushed the snow from her jeans, and gave Mason a sly look. “I threw it into the Missouri River on New Year’s Eve. By the way, you’re quite the swimmer.”
Mason flashed back to New Year’s Eve. He remembered seeing Amy in the mayor’s entourage just before Beth found him at the back of the Dream Casino. In the video Ed Fiora had shown him, Beth had left him on the prow of the boat. The next thing he’d seen was the flash from a gun. Though the shooter’s face was obscured, he and Fiora had assumed that the shooter had been Beth.
“If it makes you feel any better, you didn’t miss.”
“Actually, that makes me feel worse. I didn’t know what to do about you. I just knew I couldn’t let you find out about me. I saw you and Beth Harrell go outside and I took a chance. You should have bled to death and drowned.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“That’s all right,” she answered as she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a gun. “I get a second chance.”
“Your father’s other gun. The one you used to kill Shirley Parker. Harry Ryman matched the ballistics reports. I told Carl Zimmerman where Cullan’s files were, and he told you. You knew about the tunnel to Pendergast’s office from when you worked at the mayor’s campaign headquarters on the other side of the alley behind the barbershop.”
“Jack even gave me the tour.”
“You ran into Shirley in the tunnel and killed her.”
“Kind of makes it your fault, don’t you think?”
“Except I didn’t pull the trigger. You did.”
“Shirley was hysterical. She came at me with a pair of scissors.”
Mason shook his head. “Self-defense would have worked when you were fifteen. That story won’t sell. There were no scissors where you left Shirley’s body. You got your file and part of the mayor’s, but you left enough behind to convict him. Why?”
“I just took the parts about me.”
“Carl Zimmerman and James Toland were late to the party. They stole the files they wanted and booby-trapped the rest. Did you know about that?”
“No, but I would have helped them if I had known.”
“Blaming all this on dear old Dad won’t work anymore, Amy. Killing me won’t save you. Your car is stuck in the snow. You’ll have to leave my body on your parents’ graves. That’s a pretty big clue. And your sister is an eyewitness. Are you going to kill her too?”
“Amy, I wanna go home,” Cheryl said. “I’m cold.”
Cheryl had given up making snow angels and was standing only a few feet from Amy. She spoke with a thick-tongued child’s singsong whine. Though she was nearly thirty, her mind was trapped in those last moments when she’d been an innocent child, before her father had beaten her future out of her. Her labored speech was a lasting reminder.
“In a minute, Cheryl,” Amy said, keeping her eyes and gun firmly on Mason.
“Now! I wanna go now!” Cheryl stomped her feet and hammered her sides with her fists.
“In a minute, I told you!”
Cheryl began to cry, softly at first, then building to a wail that convulsed her. “Now! Right now!”
Cheryl ran toward Amy like a child grabbing for her mother. Mason bolted at Amy in the same instant, knocking the gun from her hand as the three of them collided. Mason and Amy rolled into the headstones, with Amy on top of him howling and scratching his face. He gripped her wrists, and she crashed her forehead into his nose. Mason felt the cartilage crumble and tasted the blood that ran into his mouth. He pulled her toward him, cocked his arms like springs, and threw her off of him.
A shot rang out, stopping Amy for an instant in midflight, before she tumbled to the ground at Mason’s side. Cheryl sat on the snow, the gun in her lap.
“I just wanna go home.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Mason always found April a soothing month. Its cool breezes and sun-painted skies made promises the rest of the year could never keep. Though the life cycle continued unaltered, April convinced his soul that life had an edge over death. He thought about that perpetual scorecard as he stood at the foot of Amy White’s grave, the sun warming his neck without penetrating to the chilled memories he carried of the past winter.
Patrick Ortiz had ruled that Amy White’s death was accidental. It had been his first official act after Leonard Campbell resigned and he was appointed to serve out Campbell’s term as prosecuting attorney. Campbell had gone on the offensive, quitting and denying any wrongdoing before he was indicted.
“What happens to Cheryl White?” Mason had asked Ortiz.
“She’s a ward of the state for now, but Howard Trimble has started adoption proceedings. What about you? I hear that Campbell tried to hire you.”
Mason had laughed. “I took a pass. He and the mayor have been leaving me messages every day. I hear that Donovan Jenkins made a deal for immunity with the U.S. attorney that will put the mayor away.”
“So why not defend one of them?”
“I’m too close to what happened. I’ll probably be a witness.”
Mason hadn’t told Ortiz that he was waiting for his own visit from the feds. Galaxy Gaming Company had bought the Dream Casino. Mason figured it was just a matter of time before some Galaxy employee found the tape recording he was certain Fiora had made of Mason conspiring to gain Blues’s release. He figured that Galaxy would either turn him in or book a favor. He couldn’t decide which alternative he dreaded more—the visit from the feds or the visit from Galaxy.
Beth Harrell had visited him first. He was studying notes he had written on his dry-erase board about his newest case. Mason had agreed to defend a professional wrestler who’d been indicted for involuntary manslaughter when he’d killed his archrival during a match.
“From the ridiculous to the sublime,” Beth had said from the open doorway.
Mason had looked up and pointed to the board. “My case or your life?”
“Fair question. I suppose an explanation is in order.”
“No. I’d say it’s out of order. You don’t owe me an explanation. You just need to quit blaming your weaknesses on your past and move on. You may be kinky or just fucked up. I don’t know which and it doesn’t matter.”
Mason cringed inwardly at his coldness toward Beth but shook it off with the realization that it was the only way he could break from her. She had a toxic allure that he couldn’t risk.
“Meaning you don’t care?”
“Meaning it doesn’t matter. I can’t help you either way.”
Mason had picked up the wrestler’s file and started reading. When he looked up a moment later, Beth had gone.
That had been a month ago, when winter was just releasing its grip. Mason bent down and pulled a dandelion from the sod covering Amy’s grave. When he stood up, he saw Harry Ryman walking toward him.
“Blues said I might find you here,” Harry told him.
“Yeah. I just thought I’d stop by and pull the weeds. What’s up?”
“The chief wants to know if I’m coming back to work.” Harry had declined a commendation for solving the murders of Jack Cullan and Shirley Parker and had been using up his accumulated vacation and sick leave. “There’s a lot of outside pressure on him to bring me back, and a lot of inside pressure the other way.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Carl was six months shy of a full pension. The department lets you buy out the time so you can ret
ire, and still collect your full pension. I told the chief if he’d let me buy out Carl’s time, I’d retire. What do you think?”
“I think we’re both pulling weeds. Maybe that’s the best we can do.”
Harry looked out over the acres of grave sites. “I suppose so.”
“Listen, I’m on my way to a rugby game. You should come along. I promised Rachel I’d take her to a game. You can keep her company while I get beat up.”
“Sounds great. I’ll pick up Claire and meet you at the game.”
Mason thought about Amy’s father and his own father, whom he scarcely remembered, as Harry walked away. Mason had pictures of his father, but little else. Jonathan Mason had been a tall, sturdily built man who his aunt Claire said had an easy laugh.
He couldn’t remember the scrape of his father’s unshaved cheek against his own. He couldn’t summon his father’s smell after he’d worked in the yard on a dusty, hot afternoon, nor after he’d slapped cologne on his neck on Saturday night. He couldn’t remember the view from atop his father’s shoulders. He had never caught a ball his father had thrown, nor measured his own strength against the man who’d given him life. He couldn’t repeat the stories his father must have read to him. Nor could he conjure the fear he must have felt at his father’s raised voice, or the comfort he surely had found in its softer tones. He examined his hands, searching without success for the memory of his father’s touch.
There were times when Mason would have killed for memories of his father, though he knew the depth of his longing was metaphorical. Amy White’s memories of her father had made the metaphor murderous.
He bent down to pull another young dandelion. Casting it aside, he placed a small rock on Amy’s tombstone in the Jewish tradition of remembering the dead, certain that no one else would remember Amy White.
THANKS
Thank you for adding The Last Witness to your library. This is an exciting time to be a writer and a reader. The indie revolution has given writers the chance to connect with readers in ways that were never imagined before.
Don’t miss the first novel in the Lou Mason series, Motion To Kill, available now as an e-book and POD and get ready for the next book in the series, Cold Truth, coming soon in both formats. Enjoy the opening chapters of both books beginning on the next page and stay in touch!
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing is not always a solitary pursuit. Thanks to the following people who helped with this book the first time around: Stuart Jaffe, my honest reader; Josh Garry and Dan Cofran, my political consultants; John Fraise, my private cop; Karen Haas and Ann LaFarge, my editors at Kensington Publishing Co., when this book was first published in 2003; and Meredith Bernstein, my agent. Special thanks to my loving wife, Hildy, who keeps my feet on the ground when my head is in the clouds.
The e-book revolution is about a lot of things, including more choices for readers and new opportunities for writers. One of the best things is the chance to share my books with people who, in spite of my late mother’s best efforts, had somehow missed them when they were first published. I think of her with an ebook reader and smile.
Table Of Contents
Front Cover Image
Welcome
Dedication
The Last Witness
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Thanks
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Novels By Joel Goldman
Copyright
About The Author
Joel Goldman is an Edgar and Shamus nominated author who was a trial lawyer for twenty-eight years. He wrote his first thriller after one of his partners complained about another partner and he decided to write a mystery, kill the son-of-a-bitch off in the first chapter and spend the rest of the book figuring out who did it. No longer practicing law, he offices at Starbucks and lives in Kansas City with his wife and two dogs.
NOVELS BY JOEL GOLDMAN
Motion to Kill
The Last Witness
Cold Truth
Deadlocked
Shakedown
The Dead Man
No Way Out
Motion To Kill
Lee Child and Michael Connelly recommend Motion To Kill! If you like the action, suspense and excitement in their books, you’ll love Motion To Kill!
“The story line never skips a beat. Fans will set in motion a plea for Mr. Goldman to return with more Mason (Lou not Perry) legal thrillers.”
—Harriett Klausner
“Lou Mason is still the sexy, brilliant but flawed counselor who is thrown into chaos and finds order. The plot leads you to the edge like the thrilling Yungas cliff road in Bolivia.”
—Elizabeth Wenig
When two of his partners are killed, corruption, sex and murder fill trial lawyer Lou Mason’s docket as he tracks the killer. Will Lou be the next victim? Found out in Motion To K
ill, the action-packed, can’t-put-it-down first book in the Lou Mason thriller series!
“Joel Goldman is the real deal!”
—John Lescroart, Bestselling author of the Dismas Hardy thriller series.
“A real page-turner with plenty of action and many surprising twists and turns along the way driven by the wise-cracking protagonist and a great supporting cast.”
—David A. Berman
“The plot races forward.”
—Amarillo Globe-News
Shakedown
If you like the knockout suspense of Michael Connelly and the gritty “who done its” by Linda Fairstein, you’ll love Joel Goldman’s Shakedown!
“Goldman tells a story at a breakneck pace…”
—Kansas City Star
“A killer identified via a fleeting facial expression and behavioral cues turns a middle-agend FBI agent dealing with a disruptive disability into an unexpected hero in Goldman’s latest terrific thriller.”
—Publisher’s Weekly
When FBI Agent Jack Davis investigates a mass murder, a leak of crucial information and his imploding personal life throw him into the ultimate danger zone – where truth lies at the heart of betrayal.
Need a thrill pill? Take Shakedown and stay up all night!
“Shakedown is a really fine novel. Joel Goldman has got it locked and loaded and full of the blood of character and the gritty details that make up the truth. Page for page, I loved it.”
—Michael Connelly, NYT Bestselling Author
“Shakedown is a chillingly realistic crime novel – it’s fast-paced, smartly plotted, and a gripping read to the very last page. Joel Goldman explores – with an insider’s eye – a dark tale of murder and betrayal.”