Cold truth

Chapter 37

"I'm a no-show for dinner," Mason told Abby, calling from his car. "I probably won't make it until late tonight."

"It's okay," Abby said, her hollow cheerfulness telling him that it wasn't. "I don't feel like going out anyway. Looks like the weather is turning nasty. It's a good night for curling up."

"I'll call you," he promised.

"Just come," she said, her request slicing Mason with its quiet urgency.

Rain began spitting against Mason's windshield, moisture and dropping temperature painting the glass with fog. Mason turned on the defroster, the blast of dry warm air clearing his view, if not his thinking.

Arthur Hackett was acting like a man guilty of more than hardball negotiating, Mason wasn't willing to believe he would risk his daughter's life just to avoid his own embarrassment. Killing Gina could have been Hackett's final negotiating position. As for Trent, the father was the son's alibi for the evening Gina was murdered. More accurately, the three Hacketts-Arthur, Carol, and Trent-were each other's alibis.

A father who would sacrifice his daughter to hide one murder wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice the son who could betray him. If he was right, Carol Hackett was Arthur's last loose end. Maybe, Mason thought, she had gone to David Evans for protection. Mason flashed back to the image of Arthur Hackett silently pleading with him as he left the courtroom, Mason believing the plea was for Jordan, wondering now if Hackett was pleading for himself.

Mason called Harry Ryman. "Are you still on Carol Hackett?" he asked, wanting only one answer.

"The way you ask that, makes me nervous," Harry said. "Yeah, I'm on her. Been on her all day and I'm ready to get off her."

"Where is she?" Mason asked.

"At home," Harry snapped. "She went shopping on the Plaza this afternoon. I kept my distance. The house was quiet when she got back, but I figured people would start showing up, same as last night. So I picked up Chinese and I'm having a feast in the front seat of my car."

"Do they have company yet?"

"Nope," Harry answered. "Still quiet. Just a couple of lights on."

Mason looked at his watch. It was past eight o'clock. If people were going to visit the Hacketts on a Saturday night, they would have been there by now.

"Go knock on the door, find out if Carol is home," Mason said, explaining why he was worried about her.

"You really think it's Arthur Hackett?" Harry asked.

"He's on my short list. Call me back. I'm on my cell."

Mason couldn't plug the hole in the Arthur Hackett scenario left by the attempts on his life. Mason had never met Arthur Hackett before Gina Davenport was murdered. The only debt Hackett owed Mason was for legal fees Mason had refused to let him pay. Nonetheless, he felt better sending Harry to check on her. While it was possible that there was more than one killer-one for Gina, one for Trent, and yet a third trying to kill him — his gut told him there was only one. He liked the single-killer theory because it was simpler than the alternative, though he had yet to see a simple murder.

David Evans was his other choice because Evans was the only one carrying Mason as a big payable on his books. Paula described Evans's temper as explosive, his intent to get even with Mason a near obsession. Mason wouldn't allow himself the luxury of questioning whether Evans was the kind of man who could kill two people and try to kill a third, having learned long ago that such surface appraisals often miss the capacity for violence that percolates inside. No one would look at Mason or Abby and guess they were capable of killing, though Mason knew there was a gulf between self-defense and premeditation even if the outcome was the same.

While Evans was the leading candidate in the who-wants-to-kill-Mason sweepstakes, Mason couldn't put the tag on him for killing Gina. If, as Paula said, Mason had driven away all of Evans's clients except for Gina and Sanctuary, Evans would guard Gina with his life, since he was finished without her. Unless, Mason realized with a start, Gina was finished with Evans. If that were true, Evans would lose more than Gina. He would lose his connection with Sanctuary, the last of his clients, putting him in the deadly zone of nothing left to lose.

Mason recognized another flaw in the David Evans theory. Whoever tried to kill him by tampering with Gina's private elevator had to have access to the room that housed the elevator controls. Evans didn't. Arthur Hackett did. That same person also had to have a special relationship with Centurion, the kind of bond that made Centurion set Mason up for the car-jacking and crack-house tour.

Both Evans and Hackett knew Centurion through Sanctuary. Evans was, for all practical purposes, Centurion's lawyer, while Hackett was his investment advisor. Either or both could have known that Centurion was running drugs and illegal adoptions through Sanctuary. For an instant, Mason tried to remember whether he'd ever seen Evans and Hackett together, his best explanation now being that they were one and the same person. Like Superman and Clark Kent, only both of them bad guys.

In every scenario, Mason decided, Trent was probably a victim of circumstance or complicity. Given his winning personality, Trent was a problem that found a permanent solution.

Mason, apologizing to his arteries, picked up a hamburger and fries at a fast-food drive-through, eating in his car, kept company by rain that had kicked up from spitting to steady, spilling the fries when his cell phone rang.

"Boss, where are you?" Mickey asked.

"In a parking lot near 33rd and Main plucking French fries out of my lap. Why the hell haven't I heard from you? What did you find in Trent's office?"

"Whoa, Boss! No need to get cranky on me here. I'm putting in my billable hours."

Mickey was right. He was taking out his frustration on Harry and Mickey and they weren't trying to kill him. He took a breath. "Sorry, Mickey. The days are running into each other and I'm running out of days. What do you got for me?"

"Bupkis from Trent's office," Mickey said.

"Mickey," Mason said gently. "Irish kids don't do Yiddish. It's like me saying top of the morning, governor."

"Thanks for the reminder, Boss. I didn't find squat in Trent's office. How's that?"

"It sucks, but it sounds better," Mason said, swallowing his disappointment. "What else have you been doing since last night?"

"Staying on task, like my teachers used to say. You told me to follow the money and that's what I've been doing."

Mason stuffed the last chunk of hamburger into a paper bag and sat up, catching the excitement in Mickey's voice. "Okay, Mickey. Give it to me."

"I started with the IRS forms for both Emily's Fund and Sanctuary. I broke down the compensation paid to employees, directors, consultants, the works. Guess who the big winners are."

"Centurion Johnson, for one," Mason answered. "I'd guess Nix came in at number two."

"Half right, Boss. Centurion was number two. David Evans was number one. He was knocking down legal fees and investment consulting fees. Between both gigs, he was taking out almost half a million a year."

"Real money for real people," Mason said.

"That's the good news. The bad news, for Evans anyway, is that he was canned the day before Gina was killed."

"How did you find that out?"

"I went down the list of Sanctuary's board members until I found someone that wanted to talk. A guy named Ransom Stoddard."

Mason said, "Why do I know his name?"

"He used to run a string of suburban newspapers, sold it to a national chain, and made a pile of dough."

"Why was he willing to talk to you?"

"I caught him at a good time. He was half in the bag and shitting his pants about the directors getting sued after what happened last night at Sanctuary."

"Did you get him down on tape?" Mason asked.

"No, but I did get him down to the bar. The guy has a taste for scotch."

"Did he say why Evans was canned?" Mason asked.

"He said it was Gina Davenport's idea. She accused Evans of skimming from Emily's Fund, then falsifying the IRS reports to cover it up. She said he was probably stealing from Sanctuary too."

"Evans blamed Gina for the phony IRS reports," Mason said. "At least that's what he told me. An easy shot to take since Gina was in no position to argue. Evans showed me the amended reports he claimed to have filed. The guy is slick. I wonder why word of this hasn't come out."

"Evans was putting on a full-court press to be reinstated and was blaming Gina for the skim. He flashed the amended IRS reports and told the board only a stupid crook or an innocent man would turn himself in to the IRS. Stoddard says that the board was afraid Evans would sue, so they were trying to make a deal with him.

Guess who the board picked to negotiate with Evans."

Mason asked, "Who?"

"The chairman of Sanctuary's investment committee, Arthur Hackett." Mason whistled. "Don't do that, Boss. It's like chalk on the blackboard. Irish guys whistle. Jewish guys say holy shit."

"I'll remember that," Mason said. "Evans says he borrowed the money to settle Max Coyle's case from Gina Davenport. Samantha said the promissory note was legit. He probably forged Gina's signature on the note."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Mickey said. "If half of what Stoddard said is true, there's no way Gina would have loaned Evans a dime."

"If Evans paid Max with stolen money, Max will have to give it back. Which means we lose our fee. This case is getting too expensive."

"Don't ask me for my share. I spent it already," Mickey said.

"You still have that passkey to the Cable Depot?" Mason asked.

"Burning a hole in my pocket."

"Don't lose it. Meet me there."

Mason's cell phone rang again.

"Nobody's home," Harry said.

"It's a big house. Maybe they're in the basement or upstairs and didn't hear you knock."

"I knocked. I rang. I called. Nobody's home. I'm getting too old for this. I knew better. I should have stayed put," Harry said, not sparing himself.

"Forget it," Mason said. "Did you check the garage?"

"Yeah. Carol drives a new Lexus. It's in the garage. Arthur drives the Mercedes. It's gone."

"They probably went out to eat. They'll be back," Mason said.

"If you believed that crap, you wouldn't have sent me looking for Carol. I'm going to call Samantha."

"And tell her what?" Mason asked. "That the Hacketts aren't home and I think Arthur may have taken Carol out to kill her? Samantha will quit taking your calls."

"You got a better idea, I'm listening."

"Last night, they split up, Carol went to see Evans, Arthur went to see Paula Sutton. Maybe they went back tonight, this time together. Take a run up north and check on Paula. She was not in a good mood when I left her a little while ago, but Blues made friends with her dog."

"What kind of dog?" Harry asked.

"Doberman."

"Figures. I hate Dobermans. Blues had a thing for them. We busted this meth dealer one time, had a Doberman. Guy turns the dog on us, figuring it was going to tear us a new asshole. Blues did that clicking thing with his tongue like he was talking in code and the dog practically humped his leg on the spot."

"Mention Blues's name to the dog, maybe it'll remember."

"Where are you going?"

"Cable Depot. Mickey is meeting me there. I'm going to take another tour."

"What about Blues?"

"He's around doing his guardian-angel thing. I'll tell him to drop by Evans's place. It's only a few blocks from the Cable Depot. Stay in touch."

"Right," Harry said, still beating himself up with a heavy tone.

"Harry," Mason told him. "Shake it off. We'll find them."

The rain was steady, like a marathoner hitting his stride in the middle miles, vapor halos orbiting the street lamps along 6th in front of the Cable Depot. Earl Luke Fisher was dodging the weather under a tarp perched over his bench, his grocery cart anchored to the bench with a bungee cord. Mason parked in front of Earl Luke's bench, tapping his impatience against the steering wheel, waiting for Mickey, keeping his eye on the building as if the killer was about to walk out holding up a sign that said "Guilty."

Mason jumped, nearly banging his head on the ceiling of the car, when Earl Luke rapped on his window. Mason rolled the window down.

"Hey, second-story man," Earl Luke said. "You're blocking my view. It ain't like I got a goddamn big screen TV to look at."

"Sorry," Mason told him, backing up. Earl Luke crawled under his tarp as Mickey pulled in behind Mason.

"Nice night if it don't rain," Mickey said as he and Mason crossed the street, caps low on their brows, collars up.

"Give me the key," Mason told him, Mickey handing it off, Mason jiggling it in the lock, first gently, then hard, the lock not giving. Mason removed the key, tried it again, repeating the process, banging on the glass door when the third time wasn't the charm.

"What's up with that?" Mickey asked. "The key worked last night."

"Hackett changed the locks," Mason said. "Why would he do that?"

"To keep us out, Boss," Mickey said.

"It would be easier to ask me to give the key back, assuming he even knows that I still have it. He wants to keep someone else out. Who else has a passkey?"

"Wait a minute," Mickey answered. "Last night, I'm going through the stuff in Trent's desk. There's a copy of a bill he sent to David Evans for a new lock when Evans moved into his office. Maybe Trent loaned him a passkey until the new lock was installed."

"And maybe Evans didn't return the passkey," Mason said.

"Been known to happen," Mickey said.

Mason said, "Which means that Evans had access to the elevator control room for Gina's private elevator."

"Which also means he could have sent you for your thrill ride. Holy shit," Mickey said.

Mason looked at him. "You converting?"

"Nah," Mickey answered. "It's tough to whistle in the rain. What now?"

"Let's talk to the doorman," Mason said, motioning to Earl Luke.