that.'
'What's the other reason?' Mason asked.
'He's waiting to see what happens with Jordan. Word is already out that she's going to plead. If she does, Centurion figures the heat is off. He'll take you in his own time if he has to. So, is Jordan going to plead?'
'I'll find out Friday morning, along with everyone else.'
'Should be a very interesting day,' Blues said.
Chapter 32
Late September in Kansas City is a crapshoot. If it rains enough in the spring and summer, the leaves burn with fiery orange, apple red, and veins of gold. Too dry, and the leaves just burn in lifeless, brown piles raked against curbs on the days the city allows its people to strike a match. Morning might bring a warm sun hung in a pure blue sky like a child's water-paint wish, or it might belt the city with a cold, low-slung, cast-iron-cloud skillet that causes a run on antidepressants.
Friday was the last day of September and it dawned promising nothing. Mason ran in Loose Park, the shadows fighting with the sun, the clouds running interference, a raw mist spitting at him. Finished, he chose a black suit, not certain whether he would look tough like Blues in black or be mistaken for an undertaker.
He didn't know what Jordan was going to do. Abby had spent an hour with her the day before, leaving without an answer but with a message that Jordan wanted her parents to be in court Friday morning.
Mason wanted Jordan to accept the plea bargain because it would save her life, something he couldn't promise. He wanted her to turn it down because he wasn't convinced of her guilt, a doubt he couldn't shake. He wanted her to take the deal to protect him from Centurion, an impulse that shamed him. He wanted to fight and win to save them both.
The courthouse steps were thick with microphones and cameras, electronic limbs hinged to talking heads doing the play-by-play, casting side bets on which way the scales of justice would tip. Mason pushed through, stopping only when Sherri Thomas held him up with her Channel 6 mike like it was a short saber, Ted Phillips aiming his camera at them.
'Mr. Mason, is it true that Jordan Hackett will plead guilty this morning? Did she kill her therapist and her brother? Is it true that she'll serve life without parole to avoid the death penalty?'
The rest of the pack descended on Mason, surrounding him with outstretched microphones, the brass handrail alongside him vibrating like a tuning fork. 'I'll make my comments in the courtroom,' Mason said.
'My viewers have the right to know if a murderer is going to be back on the streets,' Sherri said.
'Your viewers have the right to the news when it happens, not when you make it up,' Mason told her.
Sherri's next question was lost in the roar when another reporter spotted Arthur and Carol Hackett getting out of a car, both dressed in mourning black. The reporters surged toward them, leaving Sherri and Mason in their wake. Sherri signaled Phillips, who lowered his camera, covering its flashing red light with his finger, pretending he'd turned it off. Sherri toggled her microphone switch off, lowering it to her side, Mason catching her when she switched it back on, tossing her head back and her chest forward to distract him.
'Is it easier to make a deal when you know your client is guilty?' she asked.
Mason smothered her mike with his hand, leaning in close, pressing against her breasts. 'Stick this in someone else,' he whispered in her ear.
Clearing courthouse security, Mason caught an elevator, its door closing, shutting out Centurion Johnson and the don't-fuck-with-me look he leveled at Mason. Mason gave Centurion credit for having the balls to show up. It was the perfect way to proclaim his innocence of any charge that might come his way. Only an innocent man would put himself under that spotlight.
The hallway outside the courtroom was clotted with people jostling for a seat in the courtroom. Mason sliced through them, ignoring offered backslaps and handshakes, relieved when he reached the privacy of the offices and witness rooms that, together with the judges' chambers, made up the inner realm of the courthouse.
There were two courtrooms at the end of the floor, facing each other across the hall. One belonged to Judge Pistone, who would conduct the preliminary hearing if no deal were reached. The other belonged to Judge Brendan Tanner, the Circuit Court Judge who would decide whether to accept the plea bargain if Jordan agreed to it, the judges' respective roles dictated by the different functions of Associate Circuit Court Judges and Circuit Court Judges. An interior hallway connected the offices of each judge and their staff out of the sight and reach of the public.
Mason met Jordan in a room reserved for lawyers and witnesses. She was wearing the same outfit Abby had picked out for her, though it had lost the fresh snap of new clothes. She smiled weakly, her balled hands drumming against her thighs.
'It's almost time,' Mason said.
'Yeah, I know. I know,' Jordan answered, breathing deeply, not able to steady herself. 'Okay,' she said. 'I'll do it. I'll take the deal.'
'You're sure?' Mason asked, careful not to push.
Jordan nodded, chewing her lip. 'I'm sure.'
'We'll be in front of Judge Tanner. The prosecutor will announce the terms of the plea bargain. You and I will stand in front of the bench. The judge will ask you a lot of questions to make certain you understand your rights. All you have to do is answer yes to all of his questions and we'll be out of there in thirty minutes.'
'Then what?' she asked.
'Then you start the rest of your life.'
The spectators had split themselves roughly into thirds, one third grabbing seats in Judge Pistone's courtroom, another third betting on Judge Tanner's, and the last hedging in the hallway. No announcement was made that a plea would be entered. Instead, the news filtered out like a scent, and Judge Tanner's courtroom quickly filled, the bailiff making way for Jordan's parents, everyone else left to hustle in a herd version of musical chairs, the music stopping when the judge's bailiff said, 'All rise.'
Mason surveyed the room. Patrick Ortiz anchored his counsel table, flanked by an assistant nervously checking the details of the typed plea-bargain agreement Jordan had signed moments ago. Samantha Greer sat behind Ortiz in a hard, unpadded wooden chair, mouthing 'smart decision' to Mason, who shrugged in reply. A courtroom deputy stood on raised toes, scanning the crowd, a Secret Service wannabe.
Arthur Hackett leaned heavily on the rail separating the public seats from the lawyers, the bailiff's well- intentioned efforts mistakenly seating the Hacketts directly behind the prosecutor. Carol Hackett, dark glasses gone, held onto Arthur's arm.
The back wall of the courtroom was standing room only, lined by Blues, Mickey, Harry, Claire, Abby, and Rachel Firestone. Mason's life in a lineup, he thought to himself, pleased they had come. Blues was playing street stare with Centurion, standing in the far corner, winning when Centurion faked a laugh and sat down, Judge Tanner taking his seat first, the bailiff instructing everyone else to be seated.
Unlike Judge Pistone, who shrank in his courtroom, Judge Tanner embraced his. A product of Kansas City's private schools and country clubs, Tanner came to the bench a conservative, evolving into a liberal, championing individual rights, now a favorite of the criminal defense bar. Mason believed that the assignment of Jordan's trials to his court helped convince Patrick Ortiz to plea-bargain. Judge Tanner was a big man with a ruddy face and silver hair whose broad shoulders spread under his black robe, his oversized presence commanding the courtroom.
'Call the next case,' the judge instructed his bailiff.
'The State of Missouri versus Jordan Hackett,' the bailiff replied.
'I understand that we are here for the entry of a plea. Is that correct, Mr. Ortiz?' Judge Tanner asked.
Ortiz rose, unbuttoning his suit jacket. 'Yes, Your Honor. The defendant has advised us that she will plead guilty to two charges of second-degree murder in the deaths of Gina Davenport and Trent Hackett. In return, the State recommends that she be sentenced to concurrent terms of fifteen years to life imprisonment with no parole until the completion of the minimum term of fifteen years, at which time she would be released.'
'Is that a correct statement of the agreement, Mr. Mason?' the judge asked.
Rising, Mason answered, 'It is, Your Honor.'
