Hackett wrote him a check for a retainer, called the general manager at Channel 6 to arrange for Mason to pick up the tape that day, and gave Mason a copy of Dr. Gina's book, The Way You Do the Things You Do. New York Times best-seller, the cover proclaimed.
Mason pressed the play button on his VCR again, fast-forwarding the videotape to the moment when the cameraman retraced Dr. Gina's flight back to the window. He used the freeze-frame function to break down the segment frame by frame so he could study each image. The cameraman had told him he thought he'd seen a shadow, like someone standing close enough to look out the window without being seen. The killer? Mason wondered. Or a witness?
More than a year earlier, Mason had taken an unplanned New Year's Eve plunge into the Missouri River while defending Blues on a murder charge. Ever since, when Mason took a murder case, he felt like he was diving into that dark water again, worrying that he was taking the dive just to see if he could make it back to the surface, gulping for air, beating the odds, wishing he had a reason to play it safe.
Mason took a deep breath and opened the dry-erase board on the wall, beginning, as he always began, by writing down what he knew and what he had to learn to keep Jordan Hackett off of death row. He wrote Gina Davenport's name, circled it, and labeled her 'victim.'
Moving from left to right, Mason drew a line and wrote Jordan Hackett's name, giving her a casting list of roles: 'patient, witness, killer.' In the upper right-hand corner, he drew a circle around Centurion Johnson's name and labeled it 'trouble,' then added a capital T.
Returning to Gina Davenport, he drew a vertical line straight down, capping it with a horizontal bar, labeling it 'winners and losers,' wondering who he would find when he dove into the dark water.
Chapter 2
Murder makes for a lousy party, Mason thought to himself as he parked his TR-6 in front of Cafe Allegro, an upscale restaurant where swank was an appetizer.
Claire Mason, who never threw parties, was throwing one for Harry Ryman's sixtieth birthday. That she had chosen Cafe Allegro was an even greater surprise to Mason. His aunt was a lawyer who shunned the haunts of Kansas City's upper crust as if they might possess her with the life-sucking grip of the Pod People. Unless, of course, she was there to serve a summons on behalf of a beaten-down client she had decided shouldn't take it anymore. Nearly six feet tall, big-boned and broad-shouldered, she rattled the well-possessed into submission.
Claire had inspired Mason to become a lawyer with her own brash pursuit of justice. Her practice had been a straight line, often uphill, but always clear-eyed. She used the law as a battering ram to knock down the walls surrounding the powerful, giving meaning to the rights and privileges promised to her clients. Mason's own path had meandered through small and big firms until he'd landed on his own, using the law as a shield for his clients who were accused of crimes.
Mason tried without success to tuck the image of Gina Davenport's pavement performance into the file marked Not Tonight. The ambiguous shadow in the window kept yanking Dr. Gina's body back to the here and now. Tomorrow, he told the shadow. After meeting Jordan Hackett for the first time, after he sees whether she fits the shadow's description. Tonight's a party.
I'll tag along, the shadow said, settling comfortably on Mason's shoulder. Mason gave a crisp tug to the lapels of his linen blazer in a final futile effort to shake the shadow. Well, he conceded, at least he had a date.
Cafe Allegro had a golden, glittering ambience that said prepare to be pampered, but don't look at the prices. Mason surveyed the room, noting one table of dark-suited men with fierce posture, before finding his own party gathered at a table for ten on the opposite side of the room. He did a quick head count.
Claire and Harry sat next to one another, arms interlocked with wineglasses touching, lost for the moment in a private celebration of their long relationship. Harry was a barrel-built bulldog, with a squat neck, butcher's hands, and bristle-cut hair. Neither he nor Claire was handsome alone, but together they shined.
Harry had retired from the Kansas City police department after twenty-nine years, the last twenty as a homicide detective. He could have put in his thirty, but that would have meant spending his last year listening to the whispers that forgot a dirty cop but didn't forgive Harry for bringing him down.
Claire dabbed a napkin at the corner of Harry's eye, her own expression shifting from wistfully romantic to tight-mouthed concern. Harry took her hand, easing it to the table.
Rachel Firestone, her red hair flashing like a beacon, and her partner, Candace, were laughing at something Mickey Shanahan said while Mickey waved his hands in protest that it was all true. Mickey was a twenty-something PR wannabe who rented the office down the hall from Mason's, paying his rent by bartending for Blues until Mason hired him as his legal assistant. Tina Esposito, Mickey's girlfriend, gave him a playful shove, convicting him of his latest scam. Mason had told Mickey about Jordan Hackett, Mickey's eyes lighting up with the PR angles.
Blues leaned back in his chair, his muscled frame wrapped in black, catching Mason's eye with a quick nod and wry smile. 'It's your world, man,' Blues's look said. 'I'm just living in it.'
Blues's date, a long-legged model whose name Mason couldn't remember but whose body he couldn't forget, sat next to another woman Mason didn't recognize. She was shorter than the model, with chin-length auburn hair, lively eyes, and a smile that danced with the rhythm of the table. The last empty seat, between the woman and Claire, was for Mason. 'Shadow,' Mason said, 'take a hike.'
Claire rose in greeting as the others hailed Mason with mock applause at his late arrival. She grabbed him by the shoulders, propelling him toward his empty seat. Mason used the momentum to circle the table first, greeting his friends with a succession of handshakes and kisses, finishing with a hand outstretched to the one person at the table he'd yet to meet.
'My nephew,' Claire announced. 'Abby Lieberman,' she added as if no further introduction was required.
'Hey,' he said, taking Abby's hand, covering it with both of his as he sat down.
'Hey, you,' Abby said, waiting for Lou to release her hand. Mason held on, studying her fine features, offering his smile in trade for her hand until Abby's grin widened. 'Okay. I'll lend it to you until the salad is served,' she said of her hand. 'But that's my best offer unless you plan on feeding me.'
Mason was unprepared for Abby's effect on him. Maybe it was the warmth in her hand after the withering chill of watching Dr. Gina die over and over on videotape. Maybe it was the hint of promise in the sassy way she played along, flirting without being coy, interested without taking him seriously. Whatever it was, Rachel ruptured the moment.
'Let her go or get a room, Lou,' she said.
Mason loved the crinkles in Abby's cheeks as he let go of her hand and she joined in the laughter. Her laugh was full-bodied, unembarrassed. She was a woman, Mason decided, who enjoyed herself.
Forcing himself to turn away, he said, 'Happy birthday, Harry. I could use the party.'
'Tough day?' Harry asked. 'You should try turning sixty.'
'New case. Murder. An ugly one,' Mason answered.
In most crowds, Mason knew his announcement would have brought gasps. In this group, it brought understanding. Harry and Blues, both ex-homicide cops, had their Ph. D. s in killers from the University of the Street. Claire had seen the fallout in the lives of too many of her clients for whom violence arrived more easily than the rising sun. Rachel Firestone reported it all for the Kansas City Star.
'Can you talk about it?' Blues asked.
Before Mason could shake his head and explain that it was too soon, Mickey blurted out the answer.
'Talk about it? Are you kidding? It's the Gina Davenport murder. We're representing a patient who…'
'Mickey!' Mason said, cutting him off.
'Sorry, Boss,' Mickey said, subdued by Mason's blast. 'I just figured we're family, that's all.' Tina rubbed Mickey's back, soothing him.
Mason sighed, regretting Mickey's hurt feelings, especially since Mickey was right. They were family, at least all of Mason's family. And Mickey's too. He knew they would help him if the shadow in the window turned deadly. Claire would remind him of the glorious burden of representing the accused. Harry would pull strings to find out what the prosecutor wouldn't tell Mason. Blues would knock the heads of those in need of head-knocking. Rachel would keep everything off the record unless he told her otherwise. That's what families did, Mason told himself. So
