Deadlocked

Chapter 19

Nick Byrnes was at St. Joseph Hospital in south Kansas City, twenty miles and a lifetime from Samantha Greer's house. The light and siren on Samantha's car brushed aside what little traffic there was at that hour. Mason followed Samantha south on I-29, merging into I-35, crossing the Paseo Bridge over the Missouri River, all night gamblers still hitting on sixteen at the riverboat casino docked next to the bridge.

They picked up the Bruce R. Watkins Memorial Freeway on the east side of downtown, cresting a hill with a panoramic view of the skyline to the west and the Channel 5 television tower farther south, an exoskeleton patriotically illuminated in red, white, and blue that dominated midtown. Mason replayed what little Samantha had told him about the shooting.

"Looks like self-defense," she had said. "There's at least one witness who vouches for King, says Nick came after King with a gun. King tried to take it away from him and it went off."

"How many times?" Mason had asked, the question rising in his throat like bile. He couldn't forgive himself for letting Nick race out of his office, threatening King. Mason didn't take the threat seriously. He knew better, but blamed Blues anyway for inciting the boy.

"Once. In the chest. It's bad, but St. Joe's trauma docs are good. He's got a chance."

Mason had a lot more questions, but they would have to wait. They covered the twenty miles in fifteen minutes, their cars racing in tandem. Mason was a step behind Samantha as they passed through the ER on their way to the surgery waiting area. A uniformed cop picked them up, whispering an update to Samantha, glancing warily at Mason.

Samantha's partner, Al Kolatch, was already there, sitting with an elderly couple Mason guessed were Nick's grandparents. The woman rested her head on the man's shoulder, both of them white haired and slight, his arm around her. Both sets of eyes were red, the woman's face crumpled, the man's face hard. Kolatch fidgeted with his notepad, stirring a cup of coffee, forcing himself to stay in his chair. Comforting the unconsolable was not one of his strengths.

Samantha joined Kolatch, shaking hands with the man; the woman lifted her head for a moment, no strength for more questions. She motioned Kolatch to the other side of the waiting room, their conversation an exchange of murmurs and nods out of Mason's earshot. Samantha took Kolatch's place with the couple, coaxing a few more answers out of them while Kolatch briefed Mason.

"Your boy's in bad shape," Kolatch began.

"So I'm told," Mason said. "What went down?"

Kolatch looked at his notepad. "About eight o'clock last night, your client assaulted a Mr. Whitney King in the parking lot of his office building in the Holmes Corporate Centre just off I-435."

Mason knew the area. I-435 was the beltway around Kansas City. Holmes Corporate Centre was only a couple of miles east of the hospital. Office towers with an outer skin that reflected like mirrors.

"I know where it is," he told Kolatch. "What do you mean my client assaulted King?"

"Assault, Counselor. Threatening bodily harm. It's a Class B felony. Only since your client had a gun and threatened to kill Mr. King, it's assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder. Both of which are Class A felonies. That's what I mean."

"That doesn't tell me what happened," Mason said. "Did Nick say anything? Was there an argument? Or am I supposed to believe Nick just walked up to King, stuck a gun under his nose, and King took the gun away and shot Nick?"

"Sorry, Counselor. Your client did better than that," Kolatch said without any sign of regret. "He was screaming at King about King killing his parents, that he wasn't going to let King get away with murder any more, crap like that. Same kind of threats it turns out he had been making by e-mail, only this time he delivered in person. King grabbed for the gun, it went off. End of story."

"King tell you about the e-mail?" Mason asked, remembering the copies Sandra Connelly had given him.

"Nope. His lawyer did. Good-looking gal, too, but I'm guessing she'd cut your nuts off for sport. King called her before we got to the scene. She was waiting for us downtown when we brought King in."

"Did you charge him?"

"With what? Self-defense is the law, Counselor. It isn't against the law."

Mason looked past Kolatch to Samantha. "Are those people Nick's grandparents?"

Kolatch nodded. "Martin and Esther Byrnes. Nice folks.

Don't seem right, though. Having their son and daughter-inlaw murdered, then their grandson pulls a stunt like this. Some kids got no gratitude."

Mason wanted to assault Kolatch for his charitable disposition. "You don't cut any slack for a kid who's sleeping in the backseat of the car while his parents are beaten to death outside the car, then grows up knowing that the guy who did it is walking around everyday laughing in his beer about getting away with murder?"

"Whitney King was acquitted. That means he was innocent," Kolatch said.

"No, that means he wasn't found guilty. That's all it means," Mason answered. "How long has Nick been in surgery?"

"About four hours. One of the docs came out a while ago, said they'd be done pretty soon one way or the other."

"Where'd you learn your bedside manner, Kolatch?" Mason asked. "A meatpacking plant?"

"Wise guy," Kolatch said. "Sam told me."

"Yeah. She told me there was a witness. Who was it?"

"Can't beat this one," Kolatch said. "A priest. Name of Father Steve Ramsey."

Mason did a double take; his hand on Kolatch's shoulder, betting against an outbreak of priests in Kansas City named Father Steve. "Short guy, kind of heavy? Smells like an ashtray." Mason asked. "Tell me the name again?"

"Father Steve Ramsey," Kolatch said. "Hey, you know the guy. Am I right?"

"You've got a keen mind, detective," Mason answered. "Sam told me."

A doctor pushed open the door, pulling his surgical cap off his head, wadding it in his hands, his face as long as War and Peace, pulling up a chair next to the Byrneses. Samantha threw her arm around Esther Byrnes, layering it on top of Martin's. Mason sidestepped Kolatch, getting as close to the grandparents as he could without Samantha or Kolatch hustling him away.

"He's going to make it," the doctor said. Esther erupted in tears as Martin clamped down harder. "But we don't know how fully he will recover. The bullet fragmented and part of it is pressing up against his spinal cord. We can't get it out, at least not yet. It's too risky until he's a little stronger."

"Are you telling us he's going to be a cripple?" Martin Byrnes asked.

The doctor took a deep breath. "Your grandson is paralyzed and on a ventilator so he can breathe. The next forty-eight hours are critical. If we can keep him stable, go back in and get the rest of the bullet out, and if the cord is only bruised, he'll be okay. If not," he paused. "We've got some very good rehabilitation people. Advances are being made every day. I'm sorry," the doctor added, patting them both on the shoulder as he left.

Samantha motioned Mason out into the hall. "They don't want to talk to you," she told him.

"The grandparents?" Mason asked. "They don't even know who I am."

"I told them. They think this is all your fault."

"My fault?" Mason asked. "Whose gun was it? The grandfather's?"

"He kept it locked up. Nick found the key. Doesn't change anything for them. They said Nick hadn't been able to find a lawyer to take his case until he ran into you at Kowalczyk's execution. They were hoping the statute of limitations would run out and Nick would finally let it go. Then you told him what a great case he had."

"He does have a great case," Mason insisted.

"Save it, Lou. I'm not your audience. They said Nick came to see you yesterday. When he came home, he was really upset but wouldn't tell his grandparents why. What hap

pened?"

"Sorry, Sam. You know that's privileged."

"Bullshit, Lou! Nick told his grandparents someone else was there besides the two of you. Who was it? Blues? Because if it was anybody not on your payroll, there is no privilege."

Mason knew she was right. The attorney-client privilege only applied to communications between him and Nick. If someone else was present who wasn't part of Mason's legal team, there was no privilege. Still, Mason wasn't going to incriminate his own client. He'd make Samantha work for that.

"Take it up with the judge," Mason told her.

"That kid is lying in there hooked up to a breathing machine with a bullet stuck against his spinal cord," Samantha hissed. "Talk to me!"

"Why? So you can charge him with a couple of felonies, and send him off to a prison hospital for rehabilitation with the rest of the disabled inmates. I'll pass," Mason told her. "Sorry I woke you."