by Joel Goldman
"Had to," Whitney said, now standing directly behind Mason, nudging him with his shoe. "Can't trust a woman who'd get in a car with you, now could I?"
Mason slowly stood, palming the knife in his right had as he turned toward King. He caught a glimpse of Mary lying on the ground, her eyes open. There had been no second shot so Mason assumed that King had dumped her there, leaving her too stunned to move.
King raised his gun, aiming at Mason's face. "Smile," he said.
Mason whipped his right hand up, stabbing the short blade into Whitney's gut, ripping through muscle, warm blood coating his hand. Whitney's eyes widened, his jaw slackened as Mason knocked the gun from his hand. Whitney grabbed Mason's wrist, struggling against the knife as Mason drove the blade higher into his abdomen and buried his knee into Whitney's groin.
Moaning, Whitney collapsed to his knees as Mason let go of the knife, throwing it on the ground out of reach. Whitney pressed his fingers against his belly, looking up at Mason, his face contorted, unable to speak. Mason clasped his hands together like a mallet, swinging down hard against Whitney's face, the blow spinning Whitney into a heap. Stunned and bleeding, he lay still long enough for Mason to remove his belt and bind his hands behind his back.
Mason dragged him across the grass, propping him against the limestone wall. Breathing hard, he pulled his shirt off and pressed it against Whitney's wound, slapping Whitney when he spit at him. He couldn't tell how badly Whitney was hurt, though he expected he would live.
Wiping his bloody hands on the grass, Mason knelt beside Claire, loosening her collar and lifting her head. Her skin was white though her breathing was steady. He patted her cheek, smoothing her brow.
"C'mon, Claire. Wake up. Show's over," he said.
Her eyelids fluttered then opened. She blinked at him and said, "Whew."
"My sentiments exactly," Mason said, grinning at his aunt.
She smiled in return as he helped her sit up. She supported herself with one hand, feeling her chest with the other. "Good old Harry," she said, stroking the bulletproof fabric.
A sudden gunshot stunned them both. Mason jumped to his feet, whirling around as Mary walked away from Whitney King, dropping his gun at his feet, Whitney's face dissolving in a crimson blossom.
Chapter 54
Crime scenes grow like tiny cities. The victim and perpetrator are the founders. The police and paramedics move in next, annexing a wide ring of land around the small plot where the crime takes place. News media arrive like they are on a mission of manifest destiny crowding the cops for elbow room. Bystanders who sniff out calamity as if it had the scent of freshly baked bread plant themselves on the fringes like suburbanites enjoying the view and glad that someone else is there to do the dirty work, though they still find time to bitch about high taxes.
After the ambulance leaves carrying the dead and wounded and the cops finish picking over the ground like a prospector panning for gold, the voyeurs pack it in. Yellow crime scene tape is all that remains of the ghost town.
The Penn Valley Park scene followed the same boom-and-bust cycle. Reporters from the local Fox affiliate claimed special squatter's rights since the shootout took place within a stone's throw of their studio at Thirty-first and Southwest Trafficway. It all evaporated by early afternoon, latecomers consigned to a picnic in the park kept company only by the squirrels.
Blues and Mickey caught up with Mason just as he was getting into the Ford Escort, ready to return it to the young priest at St. Mark's. Mickey, breathless, bolted from Blues's car, slapping his hand on the hood of the Escort.
"Son of a bitch!" he yelled. "We heard the story on the radio! You okay, boss? What about Claire?"
Blues parked along the curb in front of the Escort, sauntering toward Mason, his blank face giving nothing away.
"I'm fine, she's fine," Mason said. "I'm sorry I let Mary run you off," he said to Blues. "I let the tail wag the dog when I could have used your help."
"Not a problem," Blues said. "She's got her issues. They ain't mine."
"She's got more than issues since she killed Whitney King," Mason said. "Tell me what you got from Janet Hook. That might help with Mary's defense."
Blues leaned against the Escort. "You got a good reason to be driving this piece of shit?"
Mason smiled, "Yeah. I got a reason. You got a reason you're not telling me what Janet Hook told you?"
Blues said, "Yeah, I got a reason. You found out from Whitney that Ryan was innocent. I found out from Janet Hook. I know that doesn't mean I put the needle in that boy's arm, but it sure feels that way."
"You did your job, Blues. You didn't decide guilt or innocence. Did Janet take a bribe to acquit Whitney and convict Ryan?" Mason asked.
"She was bought along with some of the other jurors," Blues answered. "She says she didn't know which ones or how many. Says she needed the money and figured it was no big deal. One white boy gets it, one white boy doesn't. Made no difference to her."
"How much did Whitney's father pay her?" Mason asked.
"It wasn't the father," Blues answered. "It was the mother, Victoria King, and she paid her five thousand dollars."
By late afternoon, Mason had visited Mary at the Jackson County jail, assuring her that he'd push for a bail hearing first thing Monday morning.
"Don't bother," she told him. "I'm in no hurry to go anywhere, but I'd appreciate it if you'd take care of my fish. What did you find out about Father Steve?"
Mason had finally learned the name of the young priest. "Father Brian told me that he made it through surgery but it's too early to tell about anything else. The doctors say there's probably some brain damage."
Mary nodded though her eyes were somewhere on the middle distance. Mason wasn't certain if she had heard him. She was relaxed to the point of indifference, content with what the system would do to her, devoid of any regret for what she had done.
Patrick Ortiz had tracked Mason down on his cell phone, assuring Mason that he would not be indicted for Sandra Connelly's murder and promising a public statement on Monday.
"Have you called Dixon Smith?" Mason asked Ortiz.
"Not yet. I wanted you to hear it from me," Ortiz told him.
Though Ortiz had started out as the least political of prosecutors, the office and his ambitions were reshaping him. This grand gesture with its public relations tie-in was the latest example.
Samantha Greer had called him a short time later, adding her congratulations. Mason pleaded fatigue when he turned down her invitation to have dinner that night or any other. Samantha gamely said she understood, telling him to call if Abby's move to the campaign trail proved permanent.
"What about Phil?" Mason asked her, picturing her sleep-over guest scratching his ass as he walked up the stairs after Mason woke him in the middle of the night a few lifetimes ago.
"Phil," she said. "Right! Can you see me long-term with a guy who puts on a bathrobe and slippers every time he gets out of bed in the middle of the night?"
"Not hardly," Mason assured her.
"Me either," she said.
He brought dinner to Claire's. Another boxed Chinese feast. Claire was wearing a loose-fitting blouse, the top buttons undone so Harry could check the status of the bruise left by the bullet.
"Blood red today, black orchid tomorrow," Harry announced. He'd recovered from an initial outburst of panic when he learned Claire had been shot to brag about his knockout gal who'd taken a bullet, his pronouncements tinged with unexpelled nervousness for her condition and frustration that he'd not been there to protect her.
Claire tried to be angry with him for treating a tragedy like it was a cause for celebration, but she couldn't stay angry with him. It was Harry's way of thanking God she was all right and her way of telling him she loved him.
"How's Victoria holding up?" Mason asked.
Claire sighed. "She was taken to St. Luke's Hospital. The doctors there assume she has Alzheimer's, but they won't know until they run some tests
. I suppose that counts for a lucky break on a day like this. She hasn't a clue about what happened."
"If that's the case, I doubt whether Ortiz will prosecute her for killing her husband. Either way, she'll end up in an institution," Mason said.
"That boy of hers had balls, I'll give him that," Harry said. "Checking his mother out of the hospital to use her for an alibi when he killed Sonni Efron, Frances Peterson, and Sandra Connelly. Samantha told me they checked the records at Golden Years and they matched up. It'll take longer to trace back the records on the deaths of the other jurors, but Sam says she's betting the pattern holds up."
"Yeah," Mason said, "but Victoria didn't have Alzheimer's when she first went into the psychiatric hospital and I'm not convinced she had a breakdown either."
"What are you saying?" Claire asked.
"She killed her husband but the cops bought that his death was an accident-that he fell down the stairs. My guess is that he found out she had bribed the jurors and he was going to turn her and their son in," Mason said.
"Makes her the ultimate in overly protective mothers," Harry said.
"If the cops were looking at her for killing her husband, faking a nervous breakdown and checking into a psychiatric hospital wasn't a bad idea. Especially if she never checked out," Mason said.
"That's a tough scam to pull off for fifteen years," Harry said. "Doctors have to sign off on a diagnosis; the hospital has to go along. How'd she make all that happen?"
"I don't know, but I think my lawyer does," Mason answered.
"Dixon Smith?" Claire asked. "I'd nearly forgotten about him. You tell him I want my retainer back."
"You'd think he'd forgotten about me," Mason said. "Everyone in town knows what happened this morning at the park and he's the only one who hasn't called."
Mason caught himself as he spoke, realizing that someone else had failed to call as well. He hadn't heard from Abby, knew he had no right to expect that he would, but still he couldn't swallow the lump in his throat. Though he'd managed to surface after another dive into the dark water, she would only see him dripping with blood and death after taking the plunge, counting Claire's near-death experience heavily against him.
"Maybe," Harry said, bringing the conversation back to Victoria, "she was afraid Whitney would turn her in to the cops or that he'd kill her. That would be enough to cause a nervous breakdown. Or maybe she just thought it was a good idea, her son killing the jurors to keep them quiet. Be real interesting to finally find out the truth."
"It doesn't really matter," Mason said. "Everyone is just as dead. Graham and Elizabeth Byrnes, Ryan Kowalczyk, the jurors, Sandra, and Whitney King. The truth won't change any of that."
Claire looked at him and he returned her gaze with a silent concession that he was willing to leave their old business alone if that's what she wanted. It was the least he owed her after today.
"I used to think that," she said. "But I was wrong. The truth gives us the ability to live with the past and learn from it."
Harry said, "What? Did you read that in your fortune cookie?"
"Something like that," she said.
Chapter 55
Mason worked late that night, banging away at his laptop, Tuffy curled at his feet. He was wrung out but too wrung out for sleep. He'd shut his practice down when he was arrested for Sandra's murder. Back in business a little more than twelve hours, he had two clients, Mary Kowalczyk and Nick Byrnes.
Mary was guilty of killing Whitney King. No one would dispute that. The line drawing would be over whether it was premeditated, a sudden impulse, or justifiable. There was a lot of room in the surrounding facts for him to maneuver. Patrick Ortiz, his political antennae tuned to the next election, would be wary of the land mines buried in her case.
Nick Byrnes had two days left before the statute of limitations expired on his wrongful death claim. Mason had called him earlier in the evening. Nick was more concerned for Mason than for his case. Mason explained to him about Victoria King and the law of civil conspiracy, how if two or more people conspired to conceal a crime, they could be liable in damages almost as if they had committed the crime themselves.
That's why Mason was working late. He was redrafting the lawsuit against Whitney King, substituting Whitney's estate as one defendant since Whitney was dead, and adding Victoria King as another. She had conspired to hide her son's crime, defrauding Nick Byrnes of his claim against Whitney. She hadn't pulled the trigger, but Mason was confident a jury would hold her liable even with her diminished mental capacity.
Still, that wasn't his only purpose in adding Victoria to the lawsuit any more than it was his purpose to line Nick's pockets with money Nick neither wanted nor needed. It was about finding the truth. All of it. Without guns, knives, or death. It was about the law and about justice.
He logged on to the Internet, punching in the Golden Years Web site. The truth was there. He picked up the phone and woke Samantha Greer again.
At eleven o'clock on Monday morning, Patrick Ortiz held a news conference in the courtroom previously used by the grand jury. The time was calculated to give the media sufficient notice to assemble their coverage, giving broadcasters a lead story they could run beginning with their noon broadcasts and print journalists an entire afternoon to write their stories for Tuesday's editions.
Ortiz had called Dixon Smith first thing Monday morning to tell him that the charges against his client were being dropped and that he'd like both Smith and Mason to attend the news conference. Smith asked if Mason knew the charges were being dropped, and Ortiz replied that he'd let Smith tell his client so he could take the credit.
"Get your suit out of the closet, Lou," Smith told Mason when he called him at home.
"I only wear a suit when I go to court," Mason said. "The trial is still two months off."
"Not going to be a trial, son," Smith said. "I talked to Ortiz this morning. After that heavy shit you pulled yesterday, he's agreed to drop the charges. Damn, boy, you are something. I go to the lake for the weekend and look what you do."
"You were gone the whole weekend, huh?" Mason asked. "You missed the tornado on Saturday and the shootout on Sunday. I hope you at least caught some fish."
"That I did, but I'm back now and Ortiz has invited us to his news conference where he's going to surrender and we're going to declare victory and go home."
"I can put on a suit for that," Mason said. "Tell you what, you figure out how much I owe you, take it out of the retainer, and bring me a check for the rest. I'll buy you lunch after the news conference and tell you what you missed."
"Can do," Smith said.
At the news conference, Samantha Greer and Al Kolatch stood to Ortiz's left. Mason and Dixon Smith flanked him on his right. Claire and Harry sat in the front row, Claire blushing at Ortiz's description of her courage as Harry beamed.
Invoking the power of the presumption of innocence, Ortiz declared Mason innocent of the murder of Sandra Connelly. Decrying those who sought to corrupt the system of justice, he offered a heartfelt apology for the execution of Ryan Kowalczyk, noting that mercy and sympathy would temper justice in his determination of what charges he brought against Mary Kowalczyk. He ended by announcing that the investigation into the murders of Graham and Elizabeth Byrnes, the jurors, and Christopher King was now officially closed.
Mason had reserved a table at the Union Cafe located in the center of Union Station. It was an open air restaurant with an upper level that afforded splendid views of the grand hall and the immaculately restored hand-painted ceiling. Seated at a table along the outer rail of the upper level, he and Smith could talk privately, their conversation shielded by the surrounding white noise of people passing through the station.
Smith handed Mason a check for seventy-five thousand dollars. "I didn't have time to prepare an itemized bill," Smith told him. "But, you and I know that twenty-five grand is a fair fee for where we were in the case."
"Fair is right, Dixon," Mason said. "Watchi
ng you tap dance on Ortiz at the arraignment was worth the money."
"You're the one who did the heavy lifting," Smith said. "You make the rest of us look like pantywaists."
"I'd just as soon do the heavy lifting in the courtroom. I'm getting too old for the cowboy stuff. I'll tell you one thing, though. I never would have figured Victoria King for a mother who'd kill her husband to cover up for her kid."
"Like messing with a momma bear's cubs, I guess," Smith said, stirring his cocktail enough to swish a few drops over the edge of the glass.
"Then she checks into the nut house to cover herself. Imagine that. Her dead husband is rich, which means she's richer with him dead, and she gives up life in the big mansion to hang out with the loonies."
Smith let go of his swizzle stick. "I thought she had a breakdown."
"Nope," Mason said, taking a sip of his beer. "Faked it."
"You're kidding me!"
Mason leaned forward. "Not one damn bit, Dixon. You know how your old client Damon Parker got into the psychiatric hospital business? He was a shrink. It's right there in his bio on the company Web site. Guess he figured out there was more money to be made running hospitals and nursing homes than in listening to people's troubles eight hours a day."
"I knew he had a medical degree, but I thought he quit practicing."
"He just had one patient," Mason said. "Victoria King. He signed off on her admission, her treatment-which was mostly to leave her alone-and the insurance claims filed to reimburse Golden Years for taking such good care of her. Samantha Greer told me about it this morning before the news conference."
Smith inched toward Mason, keeping his voice down. "Parker hired me to represent him in a Medicare fraud investigation. The feds want him for filing phony claims, shit like that. Victoria's was one of the claims. I probably should have told you about it, but it was privileged. You understand."
Mason took another sip of beer and stared hard at Smith. "No problem, Dixon. Don't worry. I didn't hear it from you. But you might be interested in knowing that I'm going to sue Parker and Golden Years for conspiring with Victoria and Whitney King."