'It was a real tragedy,' Arthur said. 'The girl jumped out of a window and killed herself. I give Gina credit, though. A lot of mothers would have tried to keep it quiet, but she went public, talking about it on the air. I guess it was her way of grieving. The really crazy thing is that's when Gina's show took off. Her daughter kills herself and Gina goes into national syndication. Now Gina dies in almost the same way.'
Mason caught his breath calculating the odds. 'What was her daughter's name?'
Carol whispered, 'Emily.'
Mason hesitated at his next question, betting another long shot on the answer. 'Where did it happen?'
'Sanctuary,' Carol said as she left her chair and her husband's office.
'Carol bottles everything up inside,' Arthur explained. 'It's not that she doesn't care. She does, but sometimes she comes across, well, I don't know.'
'Like she'd rather be anyplace else?' Mason asked.
'Like that,' Arthur agreed. 'We both feel guilty that Jordan can't live at home and we're not thrilled that she's at Sanctuary after what happened to Emily Davenport.'
'Why not find someplace else for Jordan to live?'
'You ever try to make a twenty-one-year-old girl do anything she didn't want to do?'
'I can't even get my dog to bark,' Mason answered. 'When was the last time you saw Jordan before Monday night?'
Arthur paused, checking his mental calendar. 'Last Friday, she stopped in before her appointment with Gina. I only saw her for a minute.'
'Do you know how she got here?'
'Someone gave her a ride, I guess. I didn't ask. Is that important?'
Mason shrugged. 'Probably not.'
'Where were you and your wife Monday night?' Mason asked the question as if it was no more important that asking for the time, hoping Arthur would be as casual in his response.
'Home,' he said, taking no offense at the question.
'How about Trent? Where was he?'
'That I don't know,' Arthur said. 'He had dinner with us at the Club. Carol and I were home by eight. I don't know where Trent went.'
'Do Trent and Jordan get along?'
Arthur shook his head back and forth. 'Trent is five years older. The age difference was a problem. They both thought the other was more trouble than they were worth. You'd think brothers and sisters would get along better.'
Mason switched gears. 'How does Gina's death affect your station?'
'It's a killer,' Arthur said, unaware of his poor analogy. 'Her show generated a third of our revenue. You don't replace that with a delayed broadcast of Rush Limbaugh. Fortunately, we have insurance on all of our air personalities. I hope that gets us by until we find another superstar.'
'I'd like to get a look at Gina's office,' Mason said.
'The police just took down the crime-scene tape this morning. Talk to Trent. His office is on the first floor. He'll give you a key.'
Mason found Max Coyle in the station's break room polishing off a LaMar's doughnut. Max gave new meaning to being huge. Centurion Johnson was a big man, but Max was part man, part mastodon. He was six-eight, and Mason guessed he weighed at least 375 pounds. Mason saw Max wrestle once on a cable broadcast. He moved well for a big man, especially when he bounced his opponents off the rope before pile-driving them into the canvas.
He was sitting with a woman smoking a cigarette directly beneath the Smoke Free Environment sign on the wall. She had a thin face and figure that worked to give her a harsh attractiveness. She reminded Mason of something bright and sharp that would cut you if you grabbed it the wrong way.
'Hey, Lou,' Max said. 'Mickey called and told me you got the check. Lemme see it.' Max wiped his hands on his pants and clapped them together with Christmas morning excitement. Mason handed him the check. 'Ain't that sweet,' Max said. 'Gimme your pen so I can endorse it.'
The woman stubbed out her cigarette and said, 'I'm Paula Sutton and you're Lou Mason. Max is short on manners.'
'Max is easily distracted by doughnuts and money,' Mason said.
'I hear the Hacketts hired you to represent Jordan.'
Mason ignored her comment. 'You do the morning show, don't you?'
'Are you a long-time listener and first-time caller?'
'Neither. I saw your name on the program guide in the lobby.'
'I do kind of an edgy, current events, call-in-andblast-everybody kind of show. Give me a try. You may like me. Although the only thing my callers want to talk about at the moment is Gina Davenport doing a header from eight flights up.'
'Probably spawn a whole new culture of conspiracy,' Mason said. 'I gather the two of you weren't close?'
'Couldn't stand the bitch,' Paula said. 'She was a phony that ducked under her morality bar like she was doing the limbo. Don't get me wrong. I didn't want her dead. I just wanted her ratings book.' She checked the wall clock. 'Three o'clock. I've got to tape some promos. Nice to meet you and don't forget to tune in.'
'Paula's not so bad,' Max said after she left. 'Her ratings suck and she may get canceled. That's enough to put anyone on the rag.'
'How are your ratings?'
'Primo, man. Number one in my time-slot, number two at the station.'
'Gina was number one?' Mason asked.
'Not even a contest.'
'Get this,' Mason said. 'David Evans is your neighbor. He's got an office on the fourth floor. Be nice when you see him in the elevator.'
'Already saw the little prick.'
'How did he end up down here? I would have thought he would want to stay away from you.' 'I'm sure he does now, especially since his other
KWIN client is gone.'
'What other KWIN client?'
'Gina Davenport.'
'Get out!' Mason said. 'Evans was managing Gina's money too?'
'More than that. He was her lawyer and he managed her money. Made my account look like chump change.'
'How did you know?'
'The asshole told me. It was part of his sales pitch. Gina must have put him on to me. He said he was managing the charitable foundation Gina set up after her daughter killed herself.'
'Emily's Fund?' Mason asked.
'Right. That's it. Something like twenty million bucks.'
'Where did she get that kind of money?'
'Don't ask me, Lou. Ask him.'
'Good idea.'
Chapter 5
Mason made it to the lobby when his cell phone rang.
'Hi, Lou. It's Abby Lieberman.'
Mason caught her long bomb in stride, scooted into the end zone untouched, and dropped the ball on the ground like it was a routine play. 'What's going on?' he asked, as if he'd expected her to call all along, though he hurried outside to make certain the cell-phone gods didn't drop her call.
