Final judgment

SIXTEEN

Mason told Fish he would give him a ride to the Federal Courthouse on Friday morning. Fish protested it wasn’t necessary even though the police had impounded his Cadillac as evidence.

“I rented a car. A white Taurus. A schlepper ’s car,” he had explained when Mason called the day before to tell him about the meeting.

“There’s nothing wrong with a Taurus,” Mason said.

“I’m a successful businessman. It’s no car for a successful businessman.”

“Can you fit a body in the trunk?”

“Very funny. All right. You can pick me up. Be here at ten.”

“The meeting isn’t until eleven. It won’t take an hour to get downtown.”

“Look at it this way. If being a little early is a crime, we’ll be in the right place.”

A minivan was parked in the driveway when Mason pulled up in front of Fish’s house on Friday morning. He glanced in the windows as he walked up the driveway, noting the car seats inside. When Fish opened the door, Mason heard squeals of laughter coming from the living room. Fish smiled, clapped him on the back, and pulled him toward the noise.

Four toddlers, three boys and a girl, were chasing each other in circles until they crashed in a heap on the floor before jumping up and doing it again, breathless, giggling and glowing. Scraps of brightly colored wrapping paper littered an Oriental rug in the center of the room.

Two women, whom Mason took to be the mothers of the children, sat in chairs on one side of the room, their arms and legs tightly crossed. One wore jeans and a sweatshirt, the other a warm-up suit. They shared the same dark hair, thin faces, and tightly pinched mouths that pronounced them as sisters. A small pile of toys was bunched beneath each of their chairs, out of harm’s way.

Mason stood on the edge of the living room as Fish waded into the gang of kids. Their laughter reached an upper octave as they swarmed on Fish’s legs, one grabbing each knee, the others flinging their arms around his ankles. He carefully shook one leg at a time, casting them off in another game that was repeated until he made his way to an easy chair opposite the two women.

He tousled each child’s hair, hugging them in turn, and sent them off with gentle pats on their bottoms. Satisfied, they dove under their mothers’ chairs, retrieved their toys, and raced up the stairs.

“My daughters, Sharon and Melissa,” Fish said.

Mason crossed the room, shaking one hand at a time. “I’m Lou Mason, your father’s lawyer.”

“I’m Sharon,” said the woman who was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.

“We know who you are,” Melissa added, tugging her warm-up suit around her as if the temperature had dropped when Mason entered the room.

Sharon gathered the wrapping paper off the floor, disappearing into the kitchen. She returned wearing a winter jacket and carrying another over her arm. She handed it to Melissa, who had laid out four tiny parkas with mittens clipped to each sleeve in a line on the floor.

“You don’t have to leave,” Fish told them. “My lawyer’s early. We’ve got plenty of time, don’t we, Lou? Besides, the kids are having fun.”

“Sure,” Mason answered. “There’s no rush.”

“I’ve got a full day, Dad,” Melissa said, straightening the parkas again. She stood and ran her hands through her hair.

“Me too,” Sharon said.

“But you just got here,” Fish said.

“We’ve been here long enough,” Sharon said.

Fish let out a deep sigh. “Is it so awful?”

Sharon cocked her head at her father, bit her lip to keep from answering, and walked to the stairs, calling the kids instead. Melissa glanced around the room, looking for anything else that hadn’t been packed up as if she were checking out of a hotel room.

“Dad,” Melissa said. “We’ve been through this. Sharon and I agreed to let you see the kids. You’ve seen them.”

“I’m your father and you treat me like I’m a monster.”

Sharon said, “We know what you are, Daddy. It wasn’t good for us, and in the end it won’t be good for our kids. Especially now with this whole dead-body thing.”

“Tell them, Lou,” Fish said. “Tell them that I didn’t kill anybody. I just want to spend time with my grandkids.”

“Stop it!” Melissa said, covering her ears with her hands. “I can’t take any more of this.”

The four children galloped down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of their jackets. They bent down, slipped their arms in their coat sleeves, and flipped them over their heads. Fish spread his arms wide and they rushed into his embrace.

“Now!” Sharon said to the kids, clapping her hands. “Let’s get going.”

Fish followed them to the door, watching until they drove off. He turned around. “They’re my kids,” he said to Mason with a shrug. “What are you going to do? I’ll get my coat.”

They walked down the front steps towards Mason’s car. Fish waved to a man across the street picking up his newspaper at the end of the driveway. The man returned Fish’s gesture with a tentative half-hoisting of his arm, not certain what to make of his newly notorious neighbor.

Fish and the decapitated corpse had made a media sensation, catching the attention of the cable news networks forever hungry for the next titillating case. Mason had given Fish strict instructions to refuse all comment. Mason limited his remarks to a firm assertion of Fish’s innocence coupled with a reminder of Fish’s full cooperation with the authorities. The media beast was barely satisfied with those crumbs. They would be back at each stage of the case: when the body was identified; when an arrest was made; when the preliminary hearing was held; when the defendant farted.

Although Avery Fish had been identified as the prime suspect according to an unidentified source close to the investigation, he acted as though he didn’t have a care in the world since his near meltdown in the U.S. attorney’s office. Except when confronting his daughters, he was buoyed by instinctive optimism and reflexive good cheer. His faith rested in the firm belief that he could sell everyone something. All he had to do was figure out what they wanted. He repeated his cheerful wave to his neighbor.

“Good morning, Morty,” he bellowed across the street. Morty hurried back inside as if he was afraid Fish’s greeting was contagious. Fish climbed into Mason’s SUV, huffing with the effort. “Sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch, that no-goodnik Morty.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Cheats on his wife and his taxes and then treats me like I’ve got the plague.”

“These are the times when you find out who your friends are.”

“All my friends are dead. And you met my daughters.”

“What about their mother?”

“My girls like me better than their mother does. We got divorced twenty-five years ago. Not that I blame her, or the girls for that matter. No one would confuse me with Father of the Year, making the kind of living I did. But those grandkids are my second chance. You get me out of this mess and maybe my family will give me a break.”

“Is that why you told me to be an hour early?”

“I just wanted you to know. That’s all,” Fish answered.

“We’ll see what Pete Samuelson has in mind.”

“Tell me again what he said.”

Mason repeated the conversation, adding his commentary at the end. “I talked to a homicide detective who’s a good friend. She said that the body hasn’t been identified yet. The only way Samuelson can help you is if he knows something that eliminates you as the killer.”

“He wants to trade that for something from me?”

“That’s what it sounds like. What do you have that he wants?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think I’m going to help him.”

“Why not? You’re facing a prison term for mail fraud and a possible murder charge. You should be willing to do back flips naked down Broadway if we can make a deal with Samuelson that gets you back with your grandkids.”

“Listen to me, boytchik. Samuelson is playing a game with us, but I’m much better at these games than he is. If Samuelson has proof I didn’t kill that poor bastard and he doesn’t turn it over to the police, he’s the one who will end up behind bars. Once he tells you that he has that kind of information, he has to give it up. So why should I give him something in return when I’ll end up with it anyway?”

“So what will you tell him?”

“I’ll tell him no. At least to his first offer. That’s never the best offer anyway.”