Motion to Kill

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sullivan had a corner office with glass on three sides, giving him a panoramic view stretching from downtown to the horizon. Bookshelves mounted above file drawers stood behind his wraparound desk.

Mason tackled the file drawers and Sandra poked through the desk. When they were finished, they were no closer to any answers. There was nothing pertaining to O’Malley or St. John’s subpoena.

“Scott said he found St. John’s subpoena on Sullivan’s desk. If Sullivan was hiding that from us, I don’t think he would have left it lying around and I don’t think he would have put it in his out basket so his secretary could file it. He would have hidden it, probably with whatever other files on O’Malley he didn’t want anyone else to see,” Sandra said.

“Makes sense, but it doesn’t look like he kept them in his office.”

“Maybe somebody got here ahead of us or maybe he kept them in an office at home. We should have a look after the funeral. I did find this DVD, but it’s not labeled.”

She handed it to Mason. He booted up Sullivan’s desktop PC and inserted the disk into the CD/DVD drive.

“Man-O-Manischewitz,” Mason said.

They watched as a half dozen naked men and women mixed and matched parts as if they were playing a deviant version of Mr. Potato Head.

“Look at those angles. I better take some notes,” Sandra said.

“That’s all the excitement I can stand,” Mason announced. His face was flushed as he punched the disk out of the computer and returned it to its case.

“What’s the matter?” Sandra teased. “Afraid to walk down the hall with Johnny Rocket ready for liftoff?”

She made a show of letting her eyes slide down his chest to his zipper.

“You are brutal. You know that? But watching a porno flick together is not my idea of bonding with you.”

Sandra wouldn’t let up. “You sure those big boys aren’t making you insecure?”

“Of all people, Sandra, I thought you would know.”

“Know what?”

“Like the song says, it ain’t the meat. It’s the motion.” Mason enjoyed Sandra’s silent, red-faced response. “Let’s go,” he added, grabbing the DVD. “I think I’ll keep this so it doesn’t show up in the stuff we turn over to St. John.”

“Just a minute. Let’s try a reality check with St. John.” Sandra unscrewed the mouthpiece of the telephone receiver on Sullivan’s desk. “You’re going to love this,” she said, showing him the miniature microphone attached to the mouthpiece.

Mason ripped the receiver from the phone and fifteen minutes later slammed open St. John’s office door with Sandra and St. John’s secretary on his heels.

“You really are a piece of work, St. John. Did you think we wouldn’t check for bugs just because you said there weren’t any?”

He jammed the mouthpiece under St. John’s nose. Two deputy marshals ran into the office, weapons drawn.

“Sorry, Mr. St. John, but your secretary pushed the panic button,” one of the deputies said.

“They didn’t have an appointment, Mr. St. John. They wouldn’t even let me buzz you first,” his secretary said.

“It’s quite all right, Paula. You did the right thing. Deputies, I’m sorry to trouble you. Mr. Mason and Miss Connelly will be leaving shortly, either with or without your assistance. It makes no difference to me.”

Mason pretended not to notice the guards as they advanced toward them.

“All I want is some answers, Frank. Why are you bugging our offices?”

St. John took the receiver from Mason, studied it, and handed it back to him.

“Mr. Mason, I’m afraid you may have more problems than either of us thought. Even those of us on the public tit can afford better equipment than this. It’s not one of ours. Good day, Counselors.”