Motion to Kill

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Sandra’s anger softened with the telling of the story. “I told you I would figure this out myself, and I decided to start with Angela. I went to that bar she took you to, The Limit, and waited. She showed up around eight.”

Mason glanced at the classroom clock on the opposite wall. It was one a.m.

“She was alone,” Sandra said. “I told her that if you figured out the wiretaps, the wrong people could too.”

“Thanks for the endorsement.”

“She was really shaken when she heard what happened to you at the lake, and she started to talk. She knew from the wiretaps that Sullivan had the goods on Scott and Harlan and that he was keeping the information on a CD. She wanted the disk for blackmail and guessed that the information was on one of the CDs you had. So she copied them.”

“Then the bad guys would chase me, never knowing she had a copy. She could blackmail them, and they’d never know what her sources were.”

“Exactly.”

“Scott found religion tonight too.” He told her what happened at the Mid-America Club. Sandra gave him a sympathetic look that showed more compassion than he gave her credit for. “Is that all Angela told you?”

“She said there was something else that she didn’t want to talk about in public. She said she was meeting someone else at nine, so we agreed to meet at her place at eleven. When I got there, she was dead.”

“So why do the cops think it was suicide?”

“No signs of forced entry, no visible signs of violence. I found her slumped over her PC with a suicide note on the screen. The cops found a syringe in her bathroom that they think she used to overdose.”

“What did the note say?”

“Something about Sullivan exposing her to AIDS and not wanting to die that way. I tried to tell the cops that she wouldn’t have killed herself, but they like the easy way out.”

Before Mason could ask another question, Blues joined them, nodding a noncommittal hello to Sandra.

“You done?” he asked Mason, who nodded his reply. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Any news on Camaya?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna make it. Scott’s been admitted to Western Missouri Mental Health.”

Blues didn’t say a word when Sandra walked out with them. Mason was glad that Camaya would survive. He preferred the threat of Camaya to more blood on his hands.

A weak storm front had coasted through the city while they were inside. The air smelled wet, and tepid steam rose from the pavement beneath the streetlights. Ghost clouds draped the moon as they walked to the cars.

“Mine’s this way,” Sandra said to Mason, motioning to a parking lot across the street. “We’ve had a rough ride, Lou. We both could use some company.”

Mason needed some company, but not Sandra’s. “I can’t. But thanks.”

She forced a bright smile. “That’s okay. Say hi to the sheriff for me.”

Blues dropped Mason at home, where he found his TR6 in the driveway. “Did you arrange that?” Mason asked.

“I been too busy to worry about your damn car. There’s a note on the windshield.”

Mason got out of Blues’s car and pulled the note from beneath the windshield wiper.

“It’s from Harry Ryman. It says, We traced this car to your neighbor, who says she sold it to you. Claire made me get it back for you. Be glad she don’t ask for too many favors.”

Blues shook his head. “You should have been dead at least three times in the last two weeks, man. Somebody is looking out for you.”

Mason watched him drive away before going inside. His empty, forlorn house couldn’t slow the spring in his step as he bounded inside, buoyed by the return of his TR6. The message light was blinking on his answering machine. He realized he hadn’t been home in days. The first ten messages were from reporters promising a flattering exclusive. Mason was in the fast lane of his fifteen minutes of fame. The last was a message from Kelly. She left a number for him to call and ended by saying she missed him.

He called the number, tapping his fingers against the kitchen counter until she answered.

“Hi, it’s Lou.”

“I know who it is, you dope,” she said softly. “I recognized your number.”

Mason warmed at the sound of her voice. “What’s the latest?”

“You made CNN. Are you all right?”

He filled her in on the details of the shoot-out, answering her pointed and professional questions.

“Now it’s your turn,” he told her.

“I’ve still got some friends in the bureau’s Chicago office. They let me have a look at Vic Jr.’s file. He was busted in 1996, just like the computer records said.”

“Could you tie him to D’lessandro?”

“He was represented by Caravello and Landusky. That’s the same firm that represents D’lessandro and that signed off on the fixtures deals.”

“Seems like too much of a coincidence.”

“The FBI got involved because he was transporting across state lines.”

“Drugs or girls?”

“Both. And you don’t do that in Chicago without D’lessandro’s permission.”

“So, that’s it? There’s nothing else to tie Vic Jr. to the mob?”

“Maybe-not exactly-I don’t know for certain.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

The line was lifeless for a moment, and then she answered, raising more questions.

“My partner, Nick, busted Vic Jr. I was off that weekend and he was working alone. He claimed that he got a tip, thought it might be a link to D’lessandro, and ended up with Junior.”

Her voice was heavy with sadness and uncertainty. Her partner-and dead lover-had arrested the son of Sullivan amp; Christenson’s biggest client. Then he ends up gut shot on a sidewalk in Kansas City, Junior disappears, and Mason becomes a moving target. No matter how he arranged these pieces, he couldn’t make them fit.

“Did D’lessandro make Nick dump the case against Vic Jr.?”

“I don’t know. But a week after the bust, McNamara took him off the case and reassigned it to himself.”

“Gene McNamara? St. John’s lapdog?”

“The same. I told you, we were all in Chicago at the same time.”

Sandra’s chaos theory was in full bloom, bumper cars in a major pileup.

“What about the bank accounts and passwords?”

“I’m still working on it. I’m on the Southwest flight that gets in at five fifty-five Sunday night. Will you pick me up?”

“No problem.”

“Lou, be careful. This isn’t over yet,” she said.