Final judgment

FIFTY-FOUR

Kelly said, “I’ll walk out with you.”

The sky was half clouds, half sun; the air held a tentative chill, ready to give way if the sun won the battle with the clouds or hold on if the contest went the other way. The breeze started and stopped as if it couldn’t make up its mind either.

They stood on the front porch. Kelly stuffed her hands under her arms to keep them warm.

“I think your client may have gotten the wrong idea.”

“Which wrong idea? The one about the government helping him out of a jam?”

Kelly smiled. “Not that one. I think he’s trying to figure out a way to steal our money.”

Mason spun toward her. “Between the federal and state charges, the man could spend the rest of his life in prison. Despite what he says, he’s got an ex-wife, kids, and grandkids he wants to reconnect with when this is all over. Besides, he’s not that stupid. You’re going to have cameras and microphones everywhere except up his ass, plus you’ll probably evict the neighbors across the street so you can spy on him in person.”

“We don’t evict them. We rent from them. And, it’s not about being stupid. It’s about habits-bad ones. People don’t change. He’s a con man. We just waved a boatload of money under his nose. He wasn’t kidding when he said he has too much respect for money to joke about it. Only it isn’t just respect, it’s greed and the charge he gets out of running a con. He can’t help himself. Plus, he wants to get even with his ex-partner.”

“Those are exactly the reasons you wanted his help. He’s good at what he does and he’s highly motivated. I’ll bet that’s a quote right out of the FBI recruiting manual,” Mason said, jabbing a finger at her.

“First page,” Kelly said, slapping his hand away. She looked up and down the street, Mason following her eyes.

“All clear?”

“Habit,” she said. “I like to see trouble before it gets here.”

Kelly stared at him again, this time her face open. She was ready to listen if he was ready to talk. He wasn’t, not until he understood her agenda.

“If you’re sending me a message, I need a translator,” Mason said.

Kelly did a slow circuit of the porch, poking her head around the corners of the house, coming back to Mason, who was standing at the top of the steps.

“Your client may be a con man, but I don’t think he killed Charles Rockley.”

“Did you tell that to the cops?”

“Detective Cates blew me off; made some noise that the Bureau should stick to catching terrorists and leave the street crime to the cops.”

“I’ve met Cates. He’s a wonderful conversationalist.”

“Typical macho cop. Confuses his dick with his gun and probably can’t fire either one. He likes Fish for the murder because they don’t have a better choice. He doesn’t care that there’s no connection between Fish and Rockley. Or that Fish is too old to have taken Rockley down, let alone cut off his head and hands. Rockley was killed by a professional or a psychopath and Fish doesn’t qualify for either, but Cates sees it the way he wants it to be.”

“Rockley was in the FBI’s database, which means he either had a record or he was a spook. I talked to his prior employers and they couldn’t wait to have him back. That doesn’t fit.”

Kelly furrowed her brow. “Where did you get his employment history?”

Mason told her part of the truth. “From Galaxy’s lawyer, Lari Prillman. Tell me who Rockley really was.”

Kelly folded her arms, dipped her chin to her chest, and did a slow half turn in place. Straightening, she clasped her hands behind her back and answered him.

“His real name was Tommy Corcoran. When he was in his twenties, he was a grifter-ran small-time cons. He had a mean side and did time for sexual assault. That’s how he got into our database. After he got out, he picked up a new identity and stayed off our radar until someone handed him his head.”

“Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that Wayne McBride is masquerading as Al Webb, skimming money from Galaxy Casino, and Tommy Corcoran, a.k.a. Charles Rockley, is also working at Galaxy? And the FBI can’t connect those dots?”

“Believe me, we tried. McBride worked the Midwest. Corcoran operated strictly in New Jersey. There’s nothing to connect them until they show up in Kansas City. Then there’s Johnny Keegan.”

“What do you have on Keegan?”

“Just what I got from Detective Griswold. Why was Keegan holding on to your name and phone number when he was killed?

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of him,” Mason said, holding both hands up. “The guy was in enough trouble to get killed; it’s no surprise he needed a lawyer. Don’t tell me he had a secret past too.”

“Not that we’ve found.”

“Which gets us back to my client being innocent. Griswold seems like a reasonable guy. Maybe you can convince him not to charge Fish?”

“Are you certain you want me to do that?”

Mason took a step back. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Kelly dropped her arms to her sides, her hands on her hips. “Because Griswold might start asking himself the same questions I’ve been asking myself. Like why was Blues checking out Rockley’s apartment before I told you that Rockley was the dead man? And why were you and Blues talking to Mark Hill and taking pictures down in Fairfax? And why were you talking to Vince Bongiovanni about Carol Hill’s sexual harassment case? And why do you want me to investigate another FBI agent?”

Mason saw no point in telling her that Griswold was already asking him enough questions to make his shoes tight. “Was Brewer the leak?”

“I’ll deal with Brewer. Answer my questions.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I answer yours, you answer mine.”

Kelly crossed her arms. Mason smiled. She tapped her foot. He smiled again. “Fine,” she said, not meaning it. “You first.”

“Fair enough. Here’s what I know. Carol Hill sued Rockley for sexual harassment. Somebody killed Rockley and hid his body in the trunk of my client’s car on the same day we were supposed to make a deal with Pete Samuelson. Your pal Brewer breaks the news to Samuelson about the dead body just as we’re about to ink the plea bargain. Samuelson shits his pants and says no deal. Samuelson and his boss change their mind and invite us back last Friday to make a new deal. Suddenly, Brewer is out and you’re in.”

“I don’t need the history lesson.”

“Wrong. History is written by the winners and this case is still a jump ball, so pay attention. Friday morning you tell me about Rockley. Friday night, Blues and I find Carol Hill’s husband, Mark, in that bar in Fairfax. He tells us that his wife was having an affair with Keegan. Mark leaves and runs his pickup into a car parked across the street. Two guys are in the car; one jumps out and clocks poor Mark. The other guy gets on the phone and Brewer shows up two minutes later. We head for home and you nearly rear-end us.”

“Tell me, Lou. Did you think if you said it fast enough and cute enough, I wouldn’t realize you hadn’t answered any of my questions? I’ve got a picture of Blues outside Rockley’s apartment taken on Thursday and I don’t think he was selling encyclopedias door to door. I didn’t tell you about Rockley until Friday morning. Eight hours later, you had tracked down Mark Hill. How did you manage that?”

“I’m good at what I do.”

“You’re not that good. Carol Hill’s lawsuit is a private arbitration, not a matter of public record. You couldn’t have known about it unless someone told you and I didn’t. Vince Bongiovanni didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have known that he represented Carol until after you found out about her case. And that’s not the kind of information big companies like Galaxy give to strangers, especially lawyers.”

“It doesn’t matter how I knew.”

“It does to me if it means you’re connected to all of this by something other than Avery Fish.”

“I don’t have any connection to Carol Hill, Charles Rockley, Johnny Keegan, or the Galaxy Casino.”

“But you do have a connection to the Dream Casino. That’s what the Galaxy was called when Ed Fiori owned it. You didn’t represent him either. But, you were there when he died.”

Mason was dancing as fast as he could, but Kelly was a step ahead.

“Ed Fiori is ancient history.”

“There is no such thing as ancient history. The past is always waiting there to bite us in the ass. I did some digging after we found out about the sexual harassment case. Fiori was Vince Bongiovanni’s and Carol Hill’s uncle. Galaxy bought the casino from Fiori’s estate. Bongiovanni was the executor. He accused Galaxy of fraud and sued to set the sale aside, only the case was thrown out. Maybe the two of them set Rockley up so they could get even with Galaxy.”

“None of which has anything to do with me.”

“Then why won’t you answer my questions?”

“I did. You just didn’t like the answers. It’s your turn. Was Brewer the leak?”

Kelly blew her exasperation away in a fog of frosted breath. “You are beyond salvage. You know that? Beyond salvage.”

“So sell me for scrap, but tell me about Brewer first.”

She took a smaller breath that calmed her. “I don’t know. Proving that Brewer was the leak is almost impossible unless Rachel Firestone has him on tape and agrees to give it up.”

“Rachel will never give up her sources.”

“Then I’ll probably never know if Brewer was the leak.”

“Which makes us even. You don’t like my answers to your questions and I don’t like your answers to mine.”

“You always get in over your head. You can’t help it any more than Avery Fish can resist trying to steal the government’s money. I can’t keep my eye on both of you. Talk to me before it’s too late,” she said.

Mason tried staring her down, but there was more steel in her eyes than in his. He would have settled for a smart-ass comeback, but he didn’t have one. All he had was a twisted gut he was about to choke on. He walked away without answering, not stopping until he reached his car. He opened the driver’s door, lingering for a moment, looking back at her. It was still early, the street quiet. He ducked behind the wheel, fired the ignition, and drove away wondering if it already was too late.