Deadlocked

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.