moving. My daddy kept the gearbox greased and humming, checked them cars over, fixed 'em if they needed it, and sent 'em back out. I wonder why they kept all this old equipment down here.'
'The Depot is registered as an historical landmark. The preservation people probably required it. We must be in the basement. Where's the parking garage from here?'
'Gotta be through that door over there,' Earl Luke said, pointing to the far side of the room. 'You go on. I'm gonna have me a look around here.'
Mason stood at the door, listening and hearing nothing before he eased it open, stepping into the garage, seeing Arthur Hackett's Mercedes parked nose-first against one wall. A short, steep driveway led up to a garage door that opened onto Washington, the street bordering the east side of the Depot.
The remains of Gina's private elevator shaft were to his right, slabs of plywood nailed to what had been the elevator door. The elevator control room was next to it, its heavy steel door resembling a bank vault knocked off its hinges when the elevator crashed.
Mason turned on the light in the control room, looked at the switches that had been used as a deadly weapon. The switch labeled 'Emergency Brake Release' still had traces of the powder the forensic cops had used in their search for fingerprints. A ten-inch black-andwhite monitor was mounted on the wall above the control panel. Mason turned it on, watching the snow-filled screen for a moment, turning it off when he heard another door open and Carol Hackett scream.
Chapter 39
Mason turned the light off, stepping back in the shadows, keeping a thin view of Hackett's Mercedes. He resisted the impulse to race to Carol Hackett's rescue since, without a weapon, he was likely to die stupidly, though nobly, without saving her, an end he thought would make a poor epithet.
David Evans dragged Arthur Hackett across the garage floor to the Mercedes, a blood-splattered gun in one hand, the collar of Hackett's jacket tight in the grip of the other. Hackett, bleeding from a wound on the side of his head matching the blunt shape of the gun, raised an arm in semiconscious protest. Evans had hit Hackett hard enough to put him down but not kill him. Carol was screaming as Evans, indifferent, propped Hackett up against a rear tire.
Mason looked at his watch. It had been twelve minutes since he left Mickey, thirty since Blues had gone to Evans's house, sixty since he'd talked to Harry. By now, all three would be at the Depot, Mickey taking a brick to the front door, Blues and Harry holding Mickey back while they conducted a systematic search, Mickey telling them about the scene in Hackett's office, sending them to check that out first. Not knowing whether or how Mason could have gotten into the basement, they would leave that search for the last.
Evans opened the trunk to the Mercedes, stuffing the gun in his belt and shouldering Arthur, his back to Mason, giving Mason the opening he needed. Running hard, Mason bolted toward Evans, Carol screaming again, Evans whirling as he dumped Arthur in the trunk, reaching for his gun as Mason hit him in the gut, the impact folding Evans in half, Evans whipping his legs up, falling backward into the trunk on top of Hackett.
Evans's reflex kick caught Mason in the chin. Mason tumbled backward, skidding on the floor as Evans struggled to get out of the trunk, waving his gun. Mason got to his feet, launching himself at Evans as Evans fired, the bullet grazing Mason's shoulder, Mason slamming the trunk lid closed.
Mason felt the narrow trace of the bullet across his shoulder, more singed than shot. Carol Hackett was puddled on the floor, knees to her chest, whimpering.
Evans bellowed from inside the trunk. 'Open it, Mason, or I'll kill Hackett!'
'Sorry,' Mason said. 'No key. I'll call a locksmith and we'll have you out of there in no time. Try not to talk. You'll conserve oxygen.'
'Damn you, Mason! One more doesn't matter to me. Open the trunk!'
Mason said to Carol, 'You choose. Do I let him out?'
She raised her head. 'Why would you ask me a thing like that? My husband is in there. He may be dead already.'
'Then it should be an easy choice for you. I let Evans out and he kills me. What does he do with you, Carol?'
'I don't know what you mean,' she said.
Mason took her by the arm, pulling her to her feet, a red welt rising beneath her right eye, the imprint of the slap he'd witnessed from outside the Depot. 'Don't play me, Carol,' Mason said.
Carol jerked her head back like she'd been struck again, breaking away from Mason, her back to him. 'You don't know anything!'
Mason said. 'I know a lot, but not all of it. I know that you and Arthur were living in St. Louis at the same time as the Davenports and David Evans. I know that Arthur was selling ads for a radio station and you were working for the city in the Vital Records department. I know Gina Davenport couldn't get pregnant and couldn't adopt because her husband was an addict.'
Carol turned around, her mouth open. 'We were young. We had a child. We needed the extra money,' she said, giving the long-rehearsed answer to the question Mason had yet to ask.
'Nothing wrong with that,' Mason said. 'Selling advertising was tough, I'll bet, and the city couldn't have paid much. Is that why you did it? For the money?'
'Did what?' she asked, arms folded over her chest. 'I didn't do anything.'
'If you don't count forging Emily Davenport's birth certificate,' Mason said, Carol going pale. 'You wouldn't have done it on your own. Evans must have put you up to it. How did he get to you? Was it money or sex or both?'
'Please, Mr. Mason. My husband!' she said.
'Evans isn't going to kill your husband. If he does, he knows the cops will open the trunk before I do. Besides, crocodile tears aren't your strong suit. Arthur must have hit you pretty hard tonight,' Mason added, taking a guess.
Carol covered her cheek with her hand. 'How could you…'
'How could I know?' Mason asked. 'What matters is that I do know, and I know that you went to see Evans last night. You're starting to look like an accomplice to the murders of Gina Davenport and your son.'
'No!' Carol said. 'It was Arthur!'
'Try again. If your husband were the killer, you and Evans would have turned him in so the two of you could have lived happily ever after. Instead, Evans cold-cocked Arthur until he could get rid of him someplace else. You probably screamed because he got blood on your clothes.'
'He's my husband,' she hissed.
'And Trent was your son and Jordan is your daughter,' Mason said.
Carol deflated, staggering backward against a pillar supporting the ceiling, Mason's words hitting harder than her husband had. 'I never wanted children,' she said softly. 'It's terrible to say, but I didn't want them. I thought I was done after Trent was born, but Arthur insisted we adopt Jordan.'
'All you wanted was David Evans. How did you hook up with him?'
Carol nodded her head, shaking with the confession. 'He was the lawyer that took care of Jordan's adoption.'
'He take his fee in favors?' Mason asked.
'It wasn't like that,' she answered.
'It never is.'
Carol said, 'He told me Abby Lieberman was the baby's mother, but she didn't want the baby, that the Davenports did but couldn't adopt because of some technicalities. He made it seem like the birth certificate was a small thing, that it was an easy way to get everyone what they wanted.'
'Jumping your lawyer's bones while your husband was home with the kids seem like a small thing too?'
'It must be nice to always have such a finely tuned moral center, Mr. Mason. I wasn't so fortunate. I got over David and did my job as a wife and mother,' she said, squaring her shoulders and straightening her clothes, ironing out her guilt with a sharp crease.
