Cold truth

Chapter 21

"The practice of law is not about the pursuit of justice," a professor of Mason's once told him. "The practice of law is about the economic resolution of disputes. Justice is too elusive for mere mortals."

Mason thought about his law professor's cynical admonition as he stood next to the open back end of an ambulance. A paramedic wiped blood and brains off him while two others carried Tyrone's body out of the house. Centurion's resolution of his dispute with Mason had run into another harsh reality of the marketplace. Good help is hard to find.

Donnell was in a squad car, crying for his mother, who sat in another car, handcuffed and trembling. Mason couldn't tell if she was shaking because of the shooting or because she needed a rock. He knew it would be a long time before Donnell saw his mother again, longer still before he understood why.

Samantha Greer came toward him from the house, stripping latex gloves from her hands. Two detectives offered her a preliminary report on the neighbors, and she dismissed them with a not-now wave, bearing down on Mason, who checked the inside of the ambulance for cover.

She gave the thumb to the paramedic and pointed her forefinger at Mason like a switchblade. "Not one smart-ass remark, not one excuse, not one goddamn lie, or I'll tie you back up in that chair myself, so help me God, Lou!"

"That doesn't leave me much room, does it?" Mason said.

"Do not push me, Lou. I mean it!" she said. "I've got a dead body, a strung-out hooker, and a little boy using blood for finger paints. What in the hell are you mixed up in?"

"What day is it?"

A red tide rose in Samantha's face and she raised a hand, more to stop herself than him.

"I'm not kidding," Mason said. "I don't know what day it is for sure."

"It's Sunday, my day off, except when my ex-boyfriend gets a front-row seat at a homicide. How could you not know what day it is?"

"I was on my way home last night when I was car-jacked. The dead guy's name is Tyrone. He and his partner, a white guy named Richie, grabbed me at 18th and Grand. They were driving a beat-up Caprice. Tyrone jumped in my car and made me follow the Caprice. They put a bag over my head that was laced with some kind of drug, and I was out until today. When I came around, they strapped me to the chair and were about to needle me to death. The dog saved my life."

Samantha shook her head, hands on her hips. "Right. I suppose the dog's mother was Lassie."

"I don't think this dog had a mother," Mason said. "Richie hit the dog with the butt of the shotgun and the dog attacked him. The shotgun went off and Tyrone took the hit. The dog was on Richie and when he dropped the shotgun, I was able to get it and Richie took off."

"You were tied to a chair lying on your back!"

"I'm a very good scooter when someone is trying to kill me," Mason said.

"And I'm supposed to believe they picked you at random as part of a new urban sport?"

"I don't know why they picked me. They didn't take my money. They didn't ask me for anything. They just did it."

"Well, since they wouldn't tell you what they wanted, what did you tell them? You must have offered them something. No one, especially you, sits politely waiting to be called on while the bad boys are getting ready to kill you. You begged or bargained. What did you think they wanted?"

Mason realized Samantha was right. They had interrogated him with silence, letting his fear of dying do the talking. "Best guess, they were working for Centurion Johnson. Jordan Hackett took something from Centurion. I gave it back, but I kept a copy. I told them I would give them the copy. Apparently, that wasn't good enough for Centurion."

"Did you see Centurion Johnson during your escapade?"

"No."

"Did they mention his name?"

"Actually, the only one who ever talked to me said he didn't know Centurion."

"Why would they deny it if they were going to kill you? Isn't that when they tell you everything so you don't die of curiosity?"

"Bad manners, I guess," Mason said.

"What did Jordan take?"

"A ledger book containing names, initials, dates, and amounts of money. I couldn't figure out what it meant."

"Did Centurion tell you that's what she took from him?"

Mason hit his first speed bump. "No, but that's what he wanted."

"Who told you that?"

"Terry Nix, the social worker at Sanctuary. I set the meeting up with Centurion for the downtown library. Nix showed up and I gave him the ledger. I was on my way home when they grabbed me."

"Did Nix mention Centurion's name?"

"No."

"What did he say was in the ledger?"

"The names of donors to Sanctuary," Mason answered, feeling the stupid stick whack him in the back of the head.

"Let me get this straight, Lou. You gave Terry Nix a ledger of donors that Centurion Johnson didn't ask for, then you get car-jacked by two freaks that won't tell you why they are going to kill you and deny knowing Centurion Johnson. Then, when one of the freaks get dead, you want me to go arrest Centurion Johnson. Is that about it?"

"Not good enough, huh?"

"Duh!" she said, looking him over from head to toe, satisfying herself that he was still in one piece. "Throw away your clothes. Blood never comes out."

"That's it? End of investigation?" Mason asked.

"No, Lou. End of interrogation, beginning of investigation. You said you made a copy of the ledger. That's why they snatched you. I want the copy."

"Well, yeah," Mason said, feeling a lot less clever. "But I offered to give it to them and they weren't interested."

Samantha said, "If you're right about Centurion and the ledger, they were interested. Once you told them you had a copy, it was okay to kill you. Now Centurion will go after the copy and anyone else who has seen it. Care to give me a list?"

"Mickey Shanahan has the only copy. I'll drop it off this afternoon."

"You don't have a car, remember. I'll take you. Just tell me where."

"Daphne's B amp;B," he told her.

Samantha pursed her lips and nodded. "Perfect," she said. "Just perfect."

Mason's body clock had kicked into a twilight time zone the moment Richie dropped the black bag over his head. Waiting for Samantha to finish buttoning up the murder scene, he tried to reset his clock beginning with the last time he'd eaten. At first, he thought that had been lunch the day before until he remembered that lunch had been a "soup sandwich" in the rain with Centurion. When he couldn't remember the meal or the menu, his stomach growled, telling him to skip the details and feed it now. When Samantha finally pointed him toward her car, he was a little wobbly. Dried blood and day-old sweat gave him a slaughterhouse aura.

"You really should consider corporate law," Samantha told him as she lowered all the windows in her car and turned the air-conditioning on high. "It's easier on your wardrobe."

"Lower class of clientele," Mason answered. "I'm starved. Drive through the first fast-food you find."

"Why not. A dose of quarter-pounder breath will make you irresistible," Samantha said.

Samantha watched Mason devour a burger, fries, another burger, and a drink large enough for a diving board, as they sat in her Crown Victoria.

"If my car turns up, tell them to take it to George's Body Shop at 35th and Troost," Mason said between bites.

"We don't deliver," Samantha told him. "You're welcome to tour the city lot during normal office hours."

Mason wiped his mouth with his sleeve, adding another stain. "I pay my taxes," he said. "What kind of service is that?"

"Pay more taxes, you get better service," she said. "Why are you trying so hard not to tell me about what happened? I'm on your side."

"I told you what happened. You told me I was a moron. That doesn't encourage class participation. Besides, you've already decided that my client is guilty. The only evidence you're interested in is the evidence against her, and there's damn little of that."

"There was enough evidence to arrest her. There is enough evidence to bind her over for trial, and if I do my job, there will be enough evidence to convict her. That doesn't mean you have to run around playing knight-errant tempting the fates-and me-with your life. I don't like finding you on the floor in a pool of blood every time I open the door to an elevator or crack house."

"It's not about you and me, Sam. We're both doing our jobs," Mason said. "That's all."

"No, Lou," she said, holding the steering wheel like it was a life preserver. "It is about us even if there isn't any us anymore. I don't want to find your body behind one of those doors. Don't make that part of my job."

Samantha reminded Mason of the difficulty he'd had letting go of his ex-wife, Kate. Mason didn't stop loving Kate because she stopped loving him. If anything, it made him love her more and want her more. It was a long time before he could think about her without feeling the hole in his heart. Self-pity filled the hole for a while, giving way to a dull emptiness, not healing until he met Abby. Mason hadn't understood the depth of Samantha's feelings for him when he let their relationship wither. After Kate, it was easier than a straight-ahead breakup, but it was cowardly, and he wasn't proud of himself.

"I'll do my best," he said.

"So, how's your new?" she asked him.

"Her name is Abby," Mason answered. "She's fine."

"That's nice," Samantha said, shifting the Crown Vic out of neutral.

It was mid-afternoon when Mason walked into Daphne's, followed by Samantha. Mickey, Claire, Harry, Blues, and Rachel Firestone were sitting at the dining room table, each poring over pages of the ledger. Daphne was circling the table, pouring lemonade.

"Oh, Dear Lord!" Daphne said when she saw Mason, blood-soaked and ragged. The pitcher slipped from her hand, shattering when it hit the hardwood floor.

Rachel bolted from her chair, grabbing Mason by the shoulders. "You're all right?" she asked.

Mickey slapped the table with an I-told-you-so thump. Blues and Harry permitted themselves small grins, while Claire waited quietly, her eyes filling. Mason walked to her side, putting his hand on her shoulder as he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, whispering in her ear.

"I'm fine," he assured his aunt, squeezing the hand she placed over his.

Mickey and Rachel retrieved paper towels from the kitchen and began soaking up the lemonade. Daphne covered her mouth, regaining her composure.

"Samantha," she said. "Welcome back. I'm so pleased to see you again, especially with Lou," she added.

"It's good to see you again too, Daphne," Samantha said. "But this is a business call. I'm just dropping Lou off and picking up some papers. This looks like what I came for," she said, gathering the pages of the ledger from the table. "Is this it?" she asked Mason.

"That's it."

Looking at the people around the table, she said, "Looks like my list just got a little longer."

Mason didn't answer. Abby and Jordan were standing in the entry hall at the bottom of the stairs. Jordan backed away from Samantha, edging behind Blues. Abby took Mason's face in her hands.

"I'm sorry," Abby said, and kissed him softly, not caring about the crowd.

Daphne flushed and said, "Oh, my, I didn't realize," and took refuge in the kitchen.

Samantha cleared her throat, drawing Mason's attention. "I guess I better add another name," she said to him, and left.

"What list is she talking about?" Abby asked after Samantha drove away.

"I don't think it's her Christmas list," Blues answered. "Where the hell have you been and whose blood are you wearing?" he asked Mason.

Mason described the car-jacking and the dogfight. "Detective Greer thinks that if Centurion was willing to kill me because I kept a copy of the ledger, anyone who knows about it could be at risk."

"Since when did Sam become Detective Greer?" Mickey asked.

Rachel answered, "Since Daphne welcomed her and Lou home and Abby kissed and made up with Lou."

"Oh, my," Daphne said again. "I'll make some more lemonade."

"By the way," Mason said, aiming his cross-examination at Mickey. "What are Abby, Claire, and Rachel doing here?"

"Hey," Abby snapped. "Don't blame Mickey. Blame yourself for getting car-jacked and shot at instead of answering your phone. I got worried when I couldn't find you or Jordan, so I called Rachel and Claire. They guessed you would bring Jordan here. Apparently, you're something of a regular," she added with a sharp edge.

"Abby's right," Claire said. "You disappeared without a trace after you told Mickey you were going home and going to bed."

"This is a helluva story," Rachel said.

"Well, you can't write it yet," Mason told her. "Not without painting a bull's-eye on everyone's backs."

"Samantha is a good cop," Harry said. "Let her handle it."

"That would make sense except for one thing," Mason said. "Sam has a different agenda. She thinks Jordan killed Gina Davenport and Trent Hackett. She may look at Centurion for the car-jacking, but she won't try to tie them together and consider someone else in the murders unless I can convince her it's all connected. The ledger is the only link and we don't know what it means. Terry Nix said it was a list of donors, but that's public information and this ledger is in code."

"Question is," Blues said, "what did they donate?"

"Or buy," Harry suggested. "Centurion was one of the biggest drug dealers in the region until we took him down. He would have gone away for the rest of his natural life if he hadn't rolled over on the people he was buying from. I'd say that he's still dealing and that ledger is a list of his preferred customers."

Mason said, "I admit that's the logical choice. But why risk the sweet deal he's got with Sanctuary to sell dope? He's paying himself a salary of three hundred and fifty thousand bucks, driving a Mercedes, and living large in the country."

"Then if he's not selling drugs, what is he selling?" Abby asked.

"Babies," Jordan said from the corner of the dining room.

They had ignored Jordan, almost forgetting that she was there. She captured their attention with a single word that none of them had considered.

"What are you saying?" Abby asked her.

"It's a list of illegal adoptions. Centurion sells babies."

"How do you know that?" Mason asked.

Jordan looked at them, hugging herself as she abandoned her corner. "Because he sold my baby girl. I want her back and I'll do anything I have to do to find her. That's why I took the ledger. Centurion is the one who should be worried, not us."

"Mickey," Mason said. "Did you make an extra copy of that ledger?"

"You know I did, Boss."

"Pass it out," Mason told him.