Motion to Kill

CHAPTER SIX

Kelly punched in a number on her cell phone as they pulled away in her pickup truck, leaving the call on speaker.

“Riley, it’s Kelly. Get your lazy ass off your back porch and meet me at the courthouse in half an hour.”

The playful teasing in her voice told Mason that Riley didn’t have a lazy ass. He wondered what kind of ass Riley really had that caused Kelly to react that way.

“Listen, little girl. I got you that badge, and I can have it back in a heartbeat. Your daddy never woulda talked that way to me.”

Riley’s voice was filled with pleasure that said they’d played this piece many times before. Kelly’s laughter was rich, lighting her eyes.

Mason was relieved that Riley sounded a generation removed. He was also surprised at his relief. He had lost track of the different emotional chords Kelly had struck with him in less than half a day.

“Friend of yours?” Mason asked.

“Riley Brooks has been the register of deeds since I was a girl. He talked me into taking this job until a new sheriff is elected in November.”

“What happened to the other sheriff?”

“He got carried away with strip-searching women who ran stop signs. Someone had to finish out his term.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t first choice, Sheriff?”

Kelly gave him another annoyed glance. She seemed to have an inexhaustible supply.

“I was an FBI agent for ten years. My partner was killed last winter. I quit and came home. End of story. Now, tell me about the poker game. When did it start?”

Mason didn’t blame her for being more interested in figuring out who killed Sullivan than in becoming his new best friend, so he didn’t mind changing the subject.

“After dinner, about eight.”

“Was Sullivan there when the game started?”

“No, he didn’t get there until after nine.”

“So we’ve got at least two hours unaccounted for. Give me the names of the players and, this time, leave out your imaginary playmates.”

“Scott Daniels, Sandra Connelly, who runs the litigation department, Harlan Christenson, Angela Molina, Phil Rosa, and me.”

“Who are Angela and Phil?”

“Angela is the executive director of the firm, chief bean counter, and administrator. Phil Rosa is an associate. One of the rising stars in litigation.”

“Was Sullivan alone when he left the card game?”

Mason hesitated because he knew where she was headed. She was interested in more than tracking Sullivan’s movements in the hours before he died. She was making a list, probably a short one, of suspects. Mason didn’t know whether she would put his name on that list if she learned that Sullivan had asked Mason to commit a crime. He didn’t want to find out. All he could do was steer her investigation away from the O’Malley case until he knew if Sullivan had been murdered. If he had been, Mason would tell her everything and put his faith in the system.

Kelly cut through his hesitation. “If you don’t tell me, Counselor, someone else will. Someone always sees something, and they’re always anxious to talk about it.”

Mason knew she was right.

“Sullivan left with Cara Trent, one of the law school students who work for us during the summer.”

“I’ll need a list of the names, addresses, and phone numbers of everyone who was at the retreat, especially Cara Trent. I’ve only got the partners’ names so far. Chances are one of them will know where Sullivan was before and after the card game.”

“I’ve got a firm directory at the hotel. You can have it.”

“Fine. Let’s start with you. Where were you last night?”

The color rose in Mason’s cheeks as he considered the tone of her question.

“I was in my room before the card game, and I spent the rest of the night on the beach where you found me this morning.”

“Alone?”

“Alone. Before and after.”

“Did you talk with anyone? Did anyone see you?”

“I had room service. You can check with the hotel.”

“What about when you were on the beach?”

“Just a couple who were too busy with each other to notice me. You better take me in, Sheriff. I confess. The job was too good. I couldn’t stand all the money.”

“Let’s hope everyone else is so helpful.”

The corners of her mouth creased in a neat smile. Well, even the Berlin Wall eventually came down, Mason thought.

“Was Sullivan working on anything that might make someone want to kill him?”

He should have expected the question, but her smile had left him flat-footed. He had felt the same way in his last rugby match when a forward got past him with a fake pass. There was a reason that that move was called a dummy. And he was it.

“The firm has a lot of clients. They have a lot of problems, and they are unhappy about all of them.”

“I spent the last ten years sifting through more double-talk than you can imagine. Make this easy on both of us and tell me if any of those clients might want to kill him.”

“I’m not going to speculate about any client. If it turns out that my partner was murdered, I’ll tell you everything I can. Until then, I can’t tell you anything because of the attorney-client privilege. I’m sure the FBI has heard of that.”

“Mason, I’ll make this simple. If you withhold information in a murder investigation, I’ll shove your smart mouth right up your smart ass. Are we clear on that?”

“They teach you how to do that at the FBI Academy?”

“The first day.”