The Last Witness

Chapter Twenty-six

"I am not spending the night in a freezing-cold abandoned farmhouse!" Beth said.

"It's a long way to anywhere from here," Mason told her. They were in the kitchen and he shined the flashlight around the room, spotlighting a worn butcher-block table and two vinyl-upholstered chairs. "Let's talk first. Then we can decide about spending the night."

Beth stepped toward the back door. Mason cut her off, aiming the beam of his flashlight at the chairs.

"Oh, please!" Beth said. "You aren't really going to hold me hostage here until I talk. Don't you remember anything from law school? Like kidnapping is against the law? Like coerced confessions are inadmissible?"

"I'm not kidnapping you. You're free to go, but it is a long walk. Just tell me the truth about you, Jack Cullan, your pictures, and his files, and then I'll take you home."

Mason held the flashlight in front of him, pointing the beam at the ceiling like a torch, illuminating their faces as if they were sitting at the edge of a campfire. Beth looked at him across the beam, her mouth clamped shut, her eyes narrowed, waiting for Mason to call off his parlor game. He tipped his head at the table and raised his eyebrows as if to say he wasn't kidding.

Beth slipped her purse off her shoulder and walked to the table, her back to him. Mason waited for her to sit down, then turned off the flashlight and joined her at the other side of the table.

"We'll do this in the dark," he told her. "Just in case Manzerio comes back. I don't want him to see the light." Moonlight sneaked through a break in the clouds and trickled in the window, a ghostly glow that outlined their faces.

"Turn your flashlight on one more time," Beth told him. "I've got a surprise for you."

"You were supposed to keep your clothes on," he said. He aimed the beam at her chest. She pointed a gun at his. "Does that count as a mixed message?" he asked her.

"Give me the keys to your car," she told him.

"Is that the.38 Baker McKenzie gave you?"

"Give me the goddamn car keys!"

"Or you'll shoot me like you shot Jack Cullan and Shirley Parker?"

Before Beth could answer, Tony Manzerio kicked in the back door, carrying a flashlight bigger than Mason's and a gun bigger than Beth's. Mason jumped to his feet.

"Steady, Batman," Manzerio told him. "I like you a lot better sitting down." Mason hesitated, weighing his chances. "Do it!" Manzerio demanded.

Mason sat down, noticing that Beth was no longer pointing her gun at him. She wasn't pointing it at Manzerio either. Mason didn't know what she had done with her gun or whom she was likely to point it at next.

He heard the front door knocked off its hinges, and tried to guess how much more company they were about to have. Ed Fiora and two men only slightly smaller than Manzerio made their way in the dark to the kitchen.

"Hey, Mason," Fiora said as his two goons flanked him. "It must be hard to tell who your friends are these days."

The goons laughed and pointed their flashlights and guns at him. Mason held his hands up to shade his eyes from the glare.

"Can't tell the players without a program," Mason said.

"You are right about that," Fiora answered.

"Why were you following me?" Mason asked.

"I got something for you that you been looking for," Fiora said. "I wanted to give it to you so maybe you'd get off my back. I sent Tony here to deliver it, only he couldn't catch up to you. You gave him the drop, but I figured you stayed at the farmhouse when we didn't see any other cars on the road."

One of the goons handed Fiora a large envelope. He held it in one hand, tapped it against his other, and tossed it onto the table. "Go ahead, open it. Use your flashlight."

Mason picked up the envelope, guessing at its contents. Beth hung her head, looking away. He put the envelope back on the table. "Not interested," Mason said.

"That's not what I hear. Tony," Fiora said to Manzerio. "Mason's dick has gone limp. Open that envelope for him."

Manzerio stuffed his gun in his pocket and his flashlight under his arm. He ripped the envelope open and fanned out pictures of Beth Harrell across the table. Mason kept his eyes on Fiora. Manzerio gripped the back of Mason's head like a melon, pushing his face at the pictures.

Beth was nude in each photograph, legs spread, squeezing and probing her body with her hands in some pictures, using a dildo in others. Her closed eyes and open mouth mimed a staged rapture that looked stag-film phony.

"Not bad for amateur stuff," Fiora said, nodding at Manzerio, who released his grip on Mason's head.

"What do you want?" Mason asked him.

"Like I told you, I want you to back off. You think I'm blackmailing this bitch with these pictures. Cullan gave me the pictures after I got my license. I never used them except to make sure she came to my New Year's Eve party."

"So forcing her to come on to me while you watched on closed-circuit TV is just taking one of those edges you need every now and then? Is that it? Plus now I'm supposed to believe that you didn't have Cullan whacked so you could get rid of his file on you?" Mason asked.

"I knew all about Cullan's files. They didn't mean squat to me. Cullan couldn't take me down without taking himself down. Hell, I've got my own files. Everybody has files on everybody else. It's like nuclear bombs. Everyone wants them, but none of us can afford to use them."

"Then who killed Jack Cullan?" Mason asked him.

"I don't know and I don't care," Fiora said. "It wasn't me or my boys. I may rough some chump up that tries to stiff me on a tab at the casino, but I got too good a thing going to whack my own lawyer or anybody else."

"What about Shirley Parker?"

"Not my problem. Not my hit."

"If you are so uninterested in Cullan's files, why did you make me that offer on New Year's Eve if I found them first?"

"That offer still stands. I knew who I was dealing with when Cullan had his files. I don't know who or what I'm dealing with if somebody else gets them. I got one more tip for you, Counselor."

"What's that?"

"Cut out all that computer shit your wiseass gofer has been doing. I don't understand that shit, but my people tell me that anyone tries to get in my computer records leaves electronic footprints that lead right back to them. I had a little talk with that kid tonight. What's his name? Mickey something or other. By the way, I think you're going to need a new computer."

"You hurt that kid and I'll-"

"You'll what, Mr. Big Shot? Kill me? Give it a rest. Like I told you, I might rough somebody up but I don't whack anybody. I'm a businessman and I'm done doing business with you. Let's go, boys."

As Fiora turned to leave, Beth whipped her gun from inside her coat and aimed at Fiora. Mason lunged across the table, shoving her gun hand high just as she fired. The bullet lodged in the ceiling.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Mason screamed as he tumbled on top of Beth and wrestled the gun from her.

Manzerio and the other two goons showered their flashlights on Mason and Beth as they lay in a tangle on the floor. Beth wept as Mason covered her body with his, looking over his shoulder at Fiora and his men.

"I owe you, Mason," Fiora conceded, "but I wouldn't turn my back on that crazy bitch if I was you."

Before they left the farmhouse, Mason emptied the bullets from Bern 's gun into one pocket of his coat and put the gun in another pocket. He slid the photographs back in the envelope and offered them to Beth. She shook her head, saying that it didn't matter anymore. She didn't speak during the drive back to the Plaza. Mason tried a couple of times to draw her out with lame jokes or offers to stop for dinner.

She just kept staring out the window, wiping away an occasional tear.

Beth's gun was a.45-caliber Beretta auto pistol, not the.38 Baker McKenzie had given her and not the.38 used to kill Jack Cullan. Mason still didn't know what kind of gun had been used to kill Shirley Parker. He decided to wait until he found that out before deciding what to do with Beth's gun.

Mason tried calling Mickey from the car, but there was no answer in his office. He called Harry at home and asked him to check out a possible break-in at his office, and promised to meet him there as soon as possible.

He parked in the garage at the Windcrest Hotel and turned off the ignition. Beth made no move to get out of the car. Mason wasn't certain she could move at all.

"I'll take you upstairs," he offered.

Beth got out of the car and started walking. He caught up to her, cupping her elbow with his hand. She gave no sign of noticing his presence. He followed her inside her apartment, turning on lights. She plopped down in a soft-cushioned chair. Mason took off his parka and sat down across from her in a matching chair.

He didn't know what to think or feel about her. He didn't understand why she would have taken the pictures. He did understand why she tried to kill Ed Fiora, and wondered if the same thing had happened with Jack Cullan, only no one was there to ruin her aim. Whatever the answers were, he was afraid to leave her alone, but he had to find Mickey.

"Don't worry," she said, sensing his concern. "I don't need to kill myself. I'm already dead."

"Self-pity is a luxury for someone in your shoes, Beth."

She lifted her chin from her chest, focusing her blank eyes on him. "What do you suggest?"

"Start with the truth. How did your fingerprints end up in Cullan's bedroom?"

Beth looked away as she bit her lower lip. "You want me to tell you that I was holding on to the headboard while he fucked me doggie-style?"

"I don't care if the two of you got naked and howled at the moon. Just once, I'd like the truth. Did you take those pictures?"

"Yes," she said with the same flat tone.

"Why?"

"My therapist said I have a self-destructive tape playing in my head because I had an abusive father and a disinterested mother, so I do crazy things to punish myself."

"Do you believe that?"

"I don't believe anything. That's all an excuse. I did it because I wanted to, not because I know why I wanted to."

"Then why ask me to get them back?"

"After Jack was killed, I was afraid the police would think I did it because of the pictures. I had to get them back."

"Where's the gun Baker McKenzie gave you?"

"I got rid of it after Jack was killed. The paper said he was shot with a.38-caliber gun. My gun was a.38. I thought it would look bad. I liked having a gun for protection, so I bought the Berretta."

"The police could have run ballistics tests on your gun and ruled it out as the murder weapon," Mason said.

Beth got up and paced around the living room, finding renewed energy. "I admit I wasn't setting records for clear thinking. I just wanted to get the pictures back and get rid of the gun. I wanted to be a good girl again." She stopped in front of Mason and looped her fingers into the collar of his sweater, pulling him up. "I wanted to be a good girl for you," she said.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her breasts hard against his chest, and ground her pelvis against his crotch. "You saved me," she murmured as she felt him grow hard.

Mason pushed her away. "What are you?" he asked.

"I'm just a girl who can't say no."

"I'm not asking you to say yes."

Mason picked up his coat and left her standing in her living room.