Deadlocked

Chapter 48

On his way home, Mason called Samantha Greer and told her where he'd seen Whitney King.

"That's where the tornado hit," she said.

"Close. The heavy damage was across the street at Golden Years."

"I saw the news," she said. "What were you doing there?"

"I was picking up some things at Wal-Mart."

"And in the middle of a tornado, you just happened to go shopping at a Wal-Mart that's twenty miles from your house, right?"

"There aren't any Wal-Marts in my neighborhood," Mason said.

"Yeah, but there's a Costco at Linwood and Main that's less than ten minutes from your house. And I suppose it's just a coincidence that your favorite Wal-Mart is in Whitney King's neighborhood if I'm reading my street map correctly."

She didn't repeat Patrick Ortiz's theory that Mason had intended to kill both Sandra Connelly and Whitney King, but the accusation hummed in the background.

"So you want to convict me based on my shopping habits," Mason said.

"No. I want you to stop peddling this crap to me," Samantha said. "The night Sandra was murdered, you told me that she had doubts that Whitney's mother belonged at Golden Years, so I checked it out. Victoria King had a breakdown after Whitney's trial and her husband's death. Been there ever since. Satisfied?"

"I am if you are."

"Then why were you poking around out there and how did you just happen to run into Whitney King when we've been dogging him for the last three days without getting a sniff of him?"

"Why are you cross-examining me instead of thanking me for the tip on Whitney?" Mason asked.

"Because your lawyer is up to his eyeballs in a federal investigation of Golden Years and because you are the master of the omitted. If you just happened to be shopping at that Wal-Mart and Whitney King just happened to wave to you in the parking lot, then that damned tornado was airmailed special delivery to kick your ass. There's only so much Lou Mason bullshit I can shovel in one day!"

"I'll show you my receipt from Wal-Mart," he offered. "In the meantime, you might want to double the coverage on Nick Brynes. Whitney didn't look too happy when I saw him."

"I'm going to hang up so you don't have to tell me any more lies," she told him.

"Hang on a second," Mason said.

"What?" she asked, her voice vibrating with exasperation.

"Earlier today, when we were at the hospital, Nick told you that Father Steve wasn't a witness when Whitney shot him. You sent your partner Kolatch to talk to the priest. What did he find out?"

"Al talked to him. Father Steve is sticking to his story."

"You buy that?" Mason asked.

"It's an easier sell than your story of suburban adventure, but thanks for the tip on Whitney," she said, hanging up.

The more easily a story fits into someone's world, the more likely they are to believe it. Mason knew that. That's why primitive people worshiped the sun-making a star into a god fit with their limited knowledge of their world.

Mary believed her son was innocent because she couldn't imagine him being guilty and because she hated rich people like Whitney King. Samantha dismissed Mason's story about seeing Whitney and bought Father Steve's story about Nick's shooting because it fit with the case she had put together against Mason.

Cops, Mason decided, loved easy solutions that answered the most questions. Like sun-worshiping primitive tribes, cops looked for things that fit together. Mason looked for things that didn't.

Mason stopped at home long enough to pack clean clothes and Tuffy into the car. He'd typed some notes about the case on his laptop and tossed it onto the front seat of his car along with the files he'd brought home on King and the pictures he'd printed from the Golden Years' Web site.

Mason didn't know where or when King would show up, but he was confident that King would come after him. If he was right about King's mother, King would have no choice. Mason's house was too vulnerable. His office was easier to defend, especially with Mickey and Blues.

He found them both at Blues on Broadway. Blues was tending bar on a slow Saturday night, which was a bad thing in the bar business but understandable after the storm. He poured Mason a beer and listened without comment as Mason described what had happened since they'd had lunch at the Peanut.

"Harry's not as good as he used to be since his eyesight has gone to hell," Blues said. "You're taking a chance stashing Mary and Victoria over there."

Mason nodded. "Can't be helped. I couldn't think of anyplace else."

"What about Abby's place?" Blues asked.

Mason thought for a minute, swirling the last ounce of beer in the bottom of his mug. It wasn't hard to imagine Abby's reaction if he asked her.

"Bad idea," he said. "What about you? Any luck with Shawana James?"

Blues wiped a white dish towel over imaginary spots on the gleaming surface of the bar. "She's not going to be buying any tickets to the Policeman's Ball. It took a while to get past that I used to be a cop."

"Why'd you tell her?" Mason asked.

"Didn't have to. She knew by looking. Turns out we know some of the same people but from different sides of the story. She finally told me what happened to her sister."

Mason slid off his bar stool. "It's been a long day, man. Don't make it any longer."

Blues flashed a smile, enjoying the moment. "Easy, son. She's not going anywhere. Janet is living in a halfway house over in Kansas City, Kansas. She's doing the last six months of a seven-to-ten stretch for armed robbery."

Mason took a step back from the bar. "And Samantha couldn't find her?"

"Janet Hook got married and divorced since the trial. Her last name was Curtis when she was convicted. If Sam ran her maiden name through the system, it'd be easy to miss her. I checked out the halfway house. It's off Twenty-seventh and Georgia. I talked to the woman who runs it. She confirmed that Janet is there. I'll talk with her tomorrow."

"Almost makes me want to pay for the beer," Mason said, grinning.

"I'll settle for you paying the rent," Blues said as Mason made for the back of the bar and the stairs to his office.

The door to his office was open. Mickey was using his computer, prowling cyberspace for the link between Whitney King and Damon Parker. Mason watched silently for a moment, feeling at last as if part of his life was coming together again. Mickey looked up from the computer screen, pivoting in his chair toward Mason.

"You spying on me, boss?" he asked, smiling.

"Just making sure you're not going to any of those must be over twenty-one Web sites. Find anything?"

"Not much. Whitney King sits on the Golden Years board of directors, but it's mostly a window dressing deal, an advisory board, not a governing board. Meets once a year so Damon Parker can tell them what a great guy he is, but Parker runs the show."

"What about money? Any off-the-books deals?"

"That stuff is harder. I've got to hack into the Golden Years accounting system, dig out bank account numbers, and chase the dough."

"And?" Mason asked.

"And I'm working on it," Mickey answered, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles. "I'm working on it."

Mason called Harry to tell him where he was. Harry reassured Mason that they were buttoned down for the night. All secure.

Blues, Mickey, and Mason divided the rest of the night into four-hour shifts, two of them staying up at a time so they could watch the front and back of the building. Nothing happened.

Mason was sprawled on the couch in his office when Mickey woke him at six on Sunday morning. He rolled upright, slumping against the cushions, rubbing the cobwebs out of his eyes.

"You're going to like this, boss," Mickey said, waving a handful of papers at him.

Mason flipped through the pages, getting lost in the rows of numbers, handing them back to Mickey. "Too early. You tell me."

"Damon Parker has a silent partner."

"Whitney King?" Mason asked.

"Nope. His mother." Mickey said. "She bought into Parker's company around fifteen years ago."

Mason pulled himself to the edge of the couch. "His mother? She's three bricks short of a load! She's been a patient there for fifteen years."

"I guess that's why Parker put her money in a special account," Mickey said. "He's been paying her like clockwork."

"Paying her? For what?"

"Her share of the profits, man. What else? She's an owner."

Blues had finished out a complete bath, including shower, on the second floor. Mickey took advantage of it to avoid renting an apartment, using his office as home. Mason was glad to use it to get clean, massaging Mickey's information while he showered. He wrapped a towel around his waist, using the mirror to take inventory. He hadn't shaved, and his dark beard coupled with the circles under his eyes and the still angry scar on his chest gave him the look of a person just one wrong step away from life on the street.

But it wasn't just the beard or the bags under his eyes. He was worn, the battles notching lines on his face. He didn't have to take on this fight, but he had. He'd deluded himself into thinking that this one would be different, more to convince Abby than himself. He'd dived into the dark water again and it was deeper than ever.

He let out a long, slow breath, taking his time as he went back to his office for the electric razor he kept in his desk. Mickey was sitting on the couch, holding a microphone that was plugged into Mason's laptop computer.

"Watch this, boss," Mickey said, tapping the keys. Mason's phone rang. "Go ahead. Answer it," Mickey told him. Mason picked up the receiver. "Come here, Watson. I need you," Mickey said, his voice coming through clearly on Mason's phone.

"How'd you do that?" Mason asked, putting the phone down.

"While you were sleeping, I signed you up for WiFi phone service with your laptop."

"Does that mean anything in English?" Mason asked.

Mickey grinned. "Making phone calls on the Internet is nothing new. Not many people do it because they're too used to regular phones. But it's free. No long distance charges."

"I've heard of that," Mason said. "I thought you had to use a phone line or a cable hookup to do that."

"That's the beauty of wireless Internet. You can get online without a cable or phone hookup and call anybody anywhere for nothing. I saw your laptop and decided to try it. Cool, huh?"

Mason stared at Mickey, then at the laptop, his mind focusing more sharply. "Maybe," he said. "How much does it cost?"

"Depends on the package you buy, but they're all flat-rate programs."

"Sounds like an overgrown cell phone," Mason said.

"Except it's got a security feature you can't get with cell phones," Mickey explained. "These calls can't be traced back to your phone number since the computer doesn't use one. It just uses an Internet service provider that bills everything to your account with no records of individual calls. You want to make a call to someone that won't show up on anybody's phone bill, this is the way to do it. The phone sex companies are pushing it big time."

"You mean," Mason said with growing interest, "the person you call gets a bill that shows an incoming call without any originating phone number?"

"You got it," Mickey said. "Cool, huh?" he repeated. "Very cool," Mason said. His phone rang a second time.

Mickey raised his hands in a not me gesture. "Mason," he answered. "You better get over here quick," Harry said. "Why? What happened?" "It's Mary," Harry said. "What's wrong with her?" Mason asked. "She wants to go to church."