The Last Witness

Chapter Three

Mason found Harry squeezed into his desk chair, talking on the phone and rolling his eyes. "Yes, sir," he said. "I'm glad it's all over too, Mr. Mayor. Good-bye, sir." Harry put the phone down and motioned to Mason to pull up a chair.

"Did you forget to tell the mayor about the trial?" Mason asked as he borrowed a chair from another desk and sat down next to Harry.

Harry was pushing sixty, with half-gray sawdust hair, a soft-squared face, flat on the top and round on the sides. His bulk was more muscle than fat and his hands were like catchers' mitts. His build was constantly at war with his clothes, including the gray suit he'd picked for today. The arms on Harry's chair clamped his midsection like a vise. The police department had not been introduced to ergonomics.

"That's like the next election," Harry said. "Mayor Sunshine will worry about that tomorrow. Today, he'll tell the public that the case has been solved and make it sound like it was his collar."

Mason said, "I never saw a politician get so much out of his last name since the Kennedys. Anybody who can campaign on the slogan 'Let the Sunshine in Kansas City ' with a straight face wouldn't break a sweat solving a murder."

Harry freed himself long enough to get two cups of coffee from a machine against the wall. He handed one to Mason as he shoehorned himself back into his chair.

"The people elected him," Harry said. "William 'Billy' Sunshine. His Honor the Asshole."

Mason sipped and grimaced. He was an occasional coffee drinker, never quite developing an appreciation for the bitter brew.

Harry said, "Get yourself some cream and sugar. Make it sweet like when you were a kid. You'll like it better."

Mason set his cup down on Harry's desk. He didn't know whether Harry intended his remark to be a gentle paternal reminder of their long relationship or just idle chatter. Mason realized that he'd eventually have to convince Harry that their relationship was irrelevant to this case. He wasn't looking forward to that moment.

"It's fine," Mason told him. "The mayor been pushing you guys on this case?"

Mason intended the question to sound casual, even innocent-more concerned about Harry than about the implications for the "rush to judgment" defense he was already planning for Blues.

Harry gave him a wise smile. "Lou, I'm going to handle this case like every other one. It doesn't matter to me that Bluestone is the defendant or that you're his lawyer. I'll tell you what you're entitled to know and that's it."

Mason felt like the little boy again. First Harry told him how to drink his coffee, and then Harry told him that he's not so clever after all.

"Fair enough," Mason said. "Tell me what I'm entitled to know, but don't leave anything out because it won't be fun for either one of us if I find out some other way."

Harry shuffled through a stack of reports on his desk, humming under his breath until he found the one he wanted. He put on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses and studied the report.

Mason had been on the edge of many of Harry's cases, like a spectator with a front-row seat, listening to Harry's take on the bad guy of the month, his no-good defense lawyer, and the ball-busting judge. The one thing Mason always marveled at was Harry's command of the details, the nitty-gritty. Harry didn't miss much in an investigation, and he forgot even less. Mason had no doubt that Harry knew everything about Cullan's murder by heart and could recite it backward in his sleep. Harry's current display of seeming unfamiliarity was a dodge meant to encourage Mason to underestimate him. Mason figured he was doing it more out of habit than out of any expectation that Mason would take Harry too lightly.

Harry put the papers back on his desk along with his glasses. "Housekeeper found the body when she came to work on Monday morning around eight o'clock. She had a key. The alarm was off, which surprised her. Cullan ate breakfast in Westport every morning with a bunch of his cronies. He was never home when she got there and he always left the alarm on. She figured he was sick and went looking for him."

"Where did she find him?" Mason asked.

"On the floor in his study with a.38-caliber bullet hole in his right eye. Your client was a good shot."

"Or the killer was just lucky," Mason said, not taking the bait. "Did the coroner fix the time of death?"

"That part is a bit tricky. The killer turned the heat off and opened the windows in the study. You could have hung meat in there. The cold temperature makes it tough to determine the time of death. Coroner says that it could have been any time from Friday night to Sunday night."

Mason said, "That's a lot of ground to cover."

"Maybe," Harry said confidently. "But we detectives like clues and we found some good ones."

"Don't make me beg, Harry."

"Too soon for that, Lou. Begging comes during the sentencing phase. Cullan's bed was made, hadn't been slept in. The housekeeper says she made the bed on Friday. The Saturday, Sunday, and Monday newspapers were on the driveway and the Saturday mail was in the box. Cullan was popped on Friday night. Your client wasn't as smart as he thought."

"Any signs of forced entry?" Mason asked, ignoring Harry's jab.

"No."

"How did you get to Blues?"

"We traced Cullan's movements last Friday. His secretary, Shirley Parker, kept his schedule. Shirley says that he was in meetings all day and that she had made reservations for dinner for two at Mancuso's."

"I assume his secretary knew who he was having dinner with," Mason said.

"You assume right. Cullan had dinner with Beth Harrell. She's the one who's head of the Gaming Commission. So we talked with Ms. Harrell. She said that she and Cullan had gone to dinner and then stopped at Blues on Broadway to listen to Pete Kirby's trio. She wasn't real busted up about Cullan."

"She used Kirby's name?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"You've got to be a hard-core local jazz fan to know Pete Kirby's trio. That's all. Did she tell you anything else?"

Harry grinned. "That's all she told us the first time we talked to her. Kirby and his guys gave us a blow-by-blow on the fight she and Cullan had at the club and how Bluestone broke it up. My favorite part was when Bluestone threatened Cullan."

Harry hadn't said anything about the scratches on Blues's hands. Mason didn't know whether Beth Harrell or the musicians hadn't noticed the scratches, or whether Harry was holding out on Mason, waiting for him to raise the subject.

"So you went back to Beth Harrell and jogged her memory?" Mason asked.

"Early morning is a good time to question people. She didn't have her makeup on yet and the bruise Cullan had given her was just turning yellow. She said she didn't tell us about the fight because it was too embarrassing, but she did say that Bluestone scared her more than Cullan."

"Why was that?"

"Because Cullan was old and mean but she could handle him. When Bluestone threatened Cullan, she didn't think anyone could handle him."

Mason said, "None of that places Blues at the scene."

"We're working on that," Harry said. "Try this for starters," he added, tossing the coroner's report in Mason's lap.

Mason scanned the report, his stomach sinking when he found the information he knew would be there. Blood and tissue had been found under Cullan's fingernails. According to Blues's police department personnel file, the blood type found under Cullan's fingernails matched Blues's blood type.

"C'mon, Harry. You talked to four witnesses who saw Blues grab Cullan from behind to stop him from beating up Beth Harrell. Cullan scratched the backs of Blues's hands. He's still got the marks. You've got to do better than that."

Harry didn't hesitate. "None of the witnesses saw Cullan scratch your client's hands. They only saw him squeeze Cullan until his eyes started to bug out."

"That doesn't change a thing, Harry," Mason said. "They just didn't see the scratches. I'll bet none of them told you that they looked at Blues's hands afterward and didn't see any scratches. Because you didn't ask them that question. Did you? Your case sucks without something that puts Blues in Cullan's house Friday night. Tell me what you've got, Harry!"

Harry listened as Mason turned up the volume, his blank expression giving no clue whether Mason's suddenly antagonistic tone bothered him, whether he had the evidence Mason was demanding, or whether he'd even heard a word Mason had said. Harry waited until the silence pressed down as heavily as unspoken bad news.

"I've got enough that the prosecuting attorney was happy to sign the arrest warrant. He says he might ask for the death penalty. Your client's first court appearance is tomorrow morning at nine in Associate Circuit Court."

Mason said, "This isn't a death-penalty case. It's barely a murder-one case. Even if your take on Blues is right- and it's not-you've got him killing Cullan because Cullan pissed him off. That's murder two on a good day. Where are the aggravating circumstances that would make it a death-penalty case?"

"The prosecutor doesn't have to disclose that until he decides whether to ask for the death penalty."

Mason knew that Harry was right, and decided to change subjects. Harry was true to his word. He wasn't going to tell Mason anything he didn't have to tell him. "So who drew the short straw in the prosecutor's office?"

Leonard Campbell, the prosecuting attorney, limited his court appearances to accepting high-profile plea bargains and trying cases with dead-certain guilty verdicts. He was more of a politician and bureaucrat than he was a trial lawyer. Mason assumed that he would assign one of his senior deputies to Blues's case.

"When Campbell signed the arrest warrant, he told me that he would try the case. Nobody here believes that. Campbell may decide to sit at the counsel table, but the lead guy will be Patrick Ortiz."

Mason had dealt with Ortiz several times since he had opened his own practice. Ortiz had a plodding, understated style that often lulled the defense attorney into careless mistakes. Juries responded to him, seeing him as one of them. He was a regular guy who just talked to the jury, making the complex simple, explaining why the alibi was just a lie. He had the highest conviction rate of anyone in the prosecutor's office. Most importantly from Mason's perspective, Patrick Ortiz was always the lead prosecutor in death-penalty cases.

Mason was done visiting. "I've got some other things to go over with Blues. Let me know when I can get a set of the investigative reports."

"I'll have them for you tomorrow morning," Harry said. "In the meantime, I'd like to get a blood and tissue sample from your client so we can do a DNA match with the scrapings the coroner took from Cullan's fingernails."

"Let's see how things go in the morning, Harry."

Harry said, "Today or tomorrow. It doesn't matter to me. We won't have any trouble finding your client. Just tell him that when the judge imposes a sentence, he'll ask us if Bluestone cooperated or made life difficult."

Mason was already tired of Harry's pinprick comments. "Harry, I know you've had a hard-on for Blues since the two of you were partners. Don't use this case to get even. Blues's life is on the line and you're too good of a cop to make it personal."

Harry fired back. "Is that what you think? That this is personal? Well, let me tell you something, Lou. It's damn personal! Your client killed an innocent woman six years ago and walked away. He killed Jack Cullan last Friday, and if he thinks he's walking away this time, he's wrong. Murder is about as personal as crimes get. I take it real personal that I didn't nail the son of a bitch the first time."

Harry's rant attracted the stares of the handful of detectives working at the other desks jammed onto the floor. Mason looked around the room. They all knew about Blues and Harry. Though cops never liked it when one of their own was busted, Blues was an exception. He'd crossed the line six years ago, and none of them thought of Blues as a brother behind the shield any longer. Mason suspected that they had high-fived Harry when he brought Blues in, gleefully reminding one another that paybacks are hell.

"You won't nail him this time either, Harry. I won't let you," Mason said.

Mason returned to the interrogation room, trying not to be obvious when he saw Blues rubbing the scratches on the backs of his hands. Still, the image caught Mason in mid-step.

"You don't look like a lawyer who just convinced the cops to let his client go home," Blues told him.

Mason said, "The case Harry told me he has against you doesn't worry me. It's the one he wouldn't tell me about that should worry both of us."

Blues stood and looked down at Mason. Mason had always been impressed at Blues's ability to occupy a room. Though tall and muscular, he wasn't always the biggest man, but when he was backed up, he grew a foot higher and wider with the menace he promised.

"You got something to say, Lou-just say it."

Mason let out a long breath and tossed his legal pad onto the table. "Okay. Blood and tissue were found under Cullan's fingernails. They checked the blood type against the blood type in your police department personnel file and got a match. They want a blood sample for DNA testing to positively match the blood and tissue. Harry says that none of the witnesses in the bar saw Cullan scratch your hands, but they will testify that you threatened Cullan."

"So, I'll testify," Blues said.

"You know what they call a defendant who testifies? Convict," Mason said before Blues could answer. "I told Harry that his case still sucked unless he could put you at the scene."

Blues said, "You told him his case sucked? That's strong. I'll bet he gave up right then."

"Almost. I asked him what he had, and he said it was enough for the prosecuting attorney to consider asking for the death penalty. He said you got away with murder once before and that he's not going to let you get away with it again."

Blues turned away. Mason expected the news to knock Blues back. Instead, Blues gathered himself, straining as if he would break out of the interrogation room by sheer will.

"What do you think?" Blues asked.

"I think a lot of clients hold back information from their lawyer. They want to look their best, their most innocent, especially when they're not. Shit, half of them probably undressed in the dark on their wedding nights so they wouldn't disappoint their spouse." Mason paused. "I think Harry's case sucks unless he can place you at the scene. I need to know if he can."

Blues paced once around the small room, stopping with his back to the two-way mirror, and folded his arms against his chest. "I wasn't there and I didn't kill Jack Cullan."

"I'll be sure to mention that to the judge," Mason said. "You'll be arraigned tomorrow morning in front of an Associate Circuit Court judge who will set bail. I'm guessing bail will be no less than a quarter million and maybe as much as half a million."

Blues said, "The judge won't grant me bail."

"Hey, c'mon. Give me some credit. You've got substantial ties to the community. You're not a threat to anyone else. Carlos Guiterriz will bond you out. The bar will be more than enough collateral. You'll be out by lunchtime."

"You don't get it, Lou. Charging me with murder one and threatening me with the death penalty is a power play to make me take a deal. Somebody wants me to go down for this, and keeping me in the county jail until trial will be the next card that gets played. Make an ex-cop spend the winter in the general prison population, and see how long it takes him to find religion. If I don't roll over, they hope I'll get shanked before the trial. The last thing I'll hear is, 'Enjoy your stay at the Graybar Inn.' "

"Harry wouldn't do that," Mason said, regretting the words as he spoke them.

"Oh, Harry would do it, except it's not up to Harry. He's just carrying water for the chief, or the prosecuting attorney, or whoever doesn't want my case to go to trial."

"Blues, this isn't the Conspiracy Hour. Cullan was connected to everybody in town, but he would have had to own everybody-the police, the courts, and the mayor- everybody for you to be right. Plus he's dead. All the IOUs he held have been canceled."

"How are you going to prove I'm innocent?" Blues asked.

"Find out who killed Cullan."

"You'll have to peel the layers off of Cullan's life, read every one of those IOUs."

Mason nodded, grabbing the thread that held Blues's fears together. "Cullan was probably killed by someone who wanted to cancel an IOU and won't mind if you take the fall. If Cullan owned half the people the Star claims he did, there will be plenty of pressure to keep your case from coming to trial. Otherwise, I'll hang every dirty piece of laundry I can find in front of the jury to convince them that someone else did it."

"That's why I won't get bail," Blues said. "Remember something else while you're out there stirring up this shit pot."

"What's that?"

"The killer won't mind killing again to make sure I go down. And no one else will mind either."