The key players couldn't be more connected if they were inbred. You could fill in one branch of the family tree for me. Tell me what happened between Harry and Blues.'
'Why is that so important?'
'Harry thinks Blues got away with murder six years ago. He's using this case as payback. I think somebody knows that and is using Harry to make sure Blues is convicted. I can't go to Harry unless I know what happened.'
Claire studied the headline in the newspaper, deciding what to do. It was a silent sound bite, incapable of telling the whole story. Yet it was enough for most people, and all that many would read or remember. She realized that wouldn't be enough.
'Harry and Blues had been partners for a couple of years. Harry had taught Blues at the academy, helped him along when he first got on the street, and recommended him for detective when Blues took the exam. Harry always said that Blues had the best instincts of any detective he'd ever seen but that he also had one of the worst weaknesses.'
'He used violence too easily?'
'It wasn't just that. The violence came too easily to Blues. He didn't get worked up or enraged. He just did it and went on. Harry didn't know why. He worried that Blues had a dead spot that made it too easy to kill. It scared Harry because he didn't want Blues to get it wrong. Someone would die.'
'So why didn't Harry wash him out at the academy? Why promote his career and take him on as his partner?'
'I met Harry for the first time at the Nelson Art Gallery. He was sitting on a bench in the Chinese Temple in front of the statue of the Water and Moon Bodhisattva. The Bodhisattva was a Buddhist god that was supposed to protect the faithful from catastrophe. That's what Harry does. That's why he became a cop. That's why he took Blues on as his partner. He'd seen men who had that dead spot, and he thought he could keep it from happening to Blues.'
'That doesn't explain what happened with the shooting.'
'It was a drug bust. They had an informant who claimed that some Colombians had brought in a substantial quantity of cocaine and were setting up shop on the East Side. Blues was the first one through the door of the apartment. The Colombians were waiting for them. Blues and Harry both would have been dead if they hadn't been wearing Kevlar vests. Two of the Colombians were killed.'
'I remember when it happened. Harry wouldn't talk about it, but it was all over the newspaper. The woman Blues shot was a prostitute who had a gun.'
'She was in the back of the apartment. Blues went room to room. He heard a noise. It was Harry's nightmare come true. Blues said he thought the girl had a gun, but she didn't, though she wasn't innocent either.'
'Who was she?'
'She wasn't a prostitute. She was the daughter of a very wealthy man who used her father's money as seed capital for her drug business. She hired the Colombians to bring in the cocaine. The father settled for Blues's badge rather than have the story made public. And there was some question about whether the father knew where his money was going.'
'That's a pretty tough story to cover up.'
'Not if your lawyer was Jack Cullan.'
Mason came out of his chair. 'Harry and Blues went along with the cover-up?'
'They didn't know. She didn't have any ID on her. Later, Harry and Blues were fed the prostitute story. The Internal Affairs investigation was kept quiet. Blues was given a choice to resign or be prosecuted. It was a bluff that worked because no one wanted to hang the department's dirty laundry in public, including Harry and Blues. Blues took the deal.'
'How do you know what happened if Harry and Blues don't know?'
Claire gathered her coat, finished her coffee, and stood, facing Mason.
'I represented the wife when she divorced her husband six months later. He told her what had happened, and she couldn't spend another moment under his roof. She told me.'
'What she told you was confidential. Why are you telling me?'
'The purpose of the attorney-client privilege is to protect the client. My client committed suicide last month. The privilege didn't do her much good.'
'Did you tell Harry?'
'Yes. I told him this morning. I should have told both of you sooner. I'm sorry.'
'What did Harry say when you told him?'
'He thinks Blues found out that Jack Cullan had cost him his badge and had been waiting for a chance to get even. He thinks Blues used the incident at the bar with Beth Harrell as cover.'
'That makes no sense. Blues has been charged with the murder, not Beth.'
'Harry says that Blues got careless when he left a fingerprint in Cullan's study. Otherwise, Beth Harrell would have been the number one suspect. Harry thinks Blues is using you to get him off. Harry says that you'll try to convince the jury that Beth Harrell killed Cullan.'
'That's a hell of a risk for Blues to take.'
'Harry says that a man with a dead spot takes risks no one else would consider.'
'Does Harry know that you've told me all of this?'
'He asked me to tell you. He's afraid that Blues will take you down with him. He wants you to convince Blues to take a plea.'
'I'm Blues's lawyer, not his coconspirator. How can Blues take me anywhere except to the poorhouse when he doesn't pay my fee?'
Claire walked over to Mason's board, picked up the black marker, and drew a large circle around Mason's question why kill me? 'Someone knows the answer to that question, Lou. Don't take too long to find out.'
CHAPTER FORTY
Mason decided it was time to connect the dots instead of waiting for someone else to draw the picture for him. He'd spent the last three weeks scrambling to get ready for the preliminary hearing even though the outcome was a foregone conclusion. The trial was in sixty days, and he would have to use that time to make something happen, beginning with getting Blues released on bail.
He called Judge Carter's chambers to request a bail hearing. He was surprised when the judge's secretary informed him that Judge Carter would send out an order that day setting a hearing for the following Monday, January 7, at eight o'clock. Shortly after he hung up, his fax machine rang and whirred as the judge's order arrived. He was reading the order when Mickey Shanahan knocked at his open door.
'This is not a good look for you, Lou,' Mickey told him. 'You've got to be perma-pressed and lightly starched, wrinkle-free, know what I mean, man? No worries. Everything is cool. That's what the people expect. This I-spent- the-night-in-a-Dumpster look isn't going to cut it. Listen to me. It's all about image.'
'Turn around.' Mickey hesitated. 'Turn around now.'
Mickey saw the gun on Mason's desk, blanched, and did a quick pivot. 'I'm just trying to help, for chrissakes. That's no reason to go ballistic, man.'
Mason walked over to the dry-erase board and closed the cabinet doors. He was tired of people walking in and reading his mind.
Returning to his desk, he picked up the gun, balanced it in his palm, and shoved it into the holster. It felt like a prop, not a part of him. He couldn't decide whether to put it away or put it on. The fear he'd felt the night before had receded as he hid the attempt on his life behind the closed cabinet doors. He shook his head at the image of himself as a heat-packing action hero. Carrying a concealed weapon was the road to Palookaville, the punch line to a bad joke. He put the gun in a desk drawer, slamming it shut loudly enough to make Mickey jitterbug in the doorway.
'Dude! Give a guy some warning that you're gonna make him piss his pants for saying hello.'
'At ease. About face.'
