represented by counsel.
Any communications had to be in the presence of the adverse party's lawyer unless the lawyer agreed otherwise. Sandra Connelly was King's lawyer and would never agree to let Mason go one-on-one with Whitney King.
Mason plucked the darts from the wall, paced off ten steps, turned, and fired again, this time hitting the center of the dart board and laughing. Not at his lucky shot, but at the absurdity of worrying whether talking to a killer without his lawyer violated the Model Rules of Professional Conduct. Killers should have such problems, Mason thought. Rule number one of the Model Rules for Murderers. A murderer shall be prohibited from killing members of more than one generation of a family.
Each state had a disciplinary committee that reviewed complaints against lawyers for violating the Model Rules. Mason imagined a similar body for murderers, made up of the best and the brightest killers, admission by secret handshake, no doubt bloody. A liberal-minded committee certain to extend the prohibition to include kidnapping and crippling family members of prior victims because if killers started hoarding their victims, there wouldn't be enough for everyone else.
Mason unleashed his last dart, wondering where he could get a radar gun to clock his speed. He picked up his phone and punched in Sandra Connelly's number, not surprised to find her in her office on Saturday.
'I want to talk to your client,' Mason said. 'Without you.'
'Lou?' Sandra asked.
'The one and only,' he answered.
'Are you drunk or just out of your mind?'
'Do you have a preference?' he asked her.
'If you're drunk, you'll sober up. If you're out of your mind, there's not much I can do for you.'
'I'm serious, Sandra. I want to talk to Whitney King alone.'
'What possible reason would I have to agree to that?' she asked.
'I want to know what happened with Nick Brynes. I don't want a sanitized version that passes through your filter and gets me nowhere. I want the truth.'
'In the first place, I'll ignore the implication that I would let a client lie to you or anyone else. In the second place, if I agreed, I'd be committing malpractice and you know it. In the third place, who the hell do you think you are that the rules don't apply to you?'
Mason took a deep breath. Sandra was right and he knew it. 'Okay, okay. I'll tell you what. Just let me talk to him. You can sit next to him and tell him to shut up anytime you want.'
'You know, Lou. There's a procedure for this. It's called filing a lawsuit. Then you can subpoena my client to give a deposition and ask him anything you want. Why should I give you two bites at the apple?'
'Because there isn't time. Mary Kowalczyk is missing. I need to know what King knows about that too.'
'Why would you think he knows anything about it? You can't blame him for everything that happens to your clients. If you lost your client, call the police, not me.'
'Listen, Sandra. I know it's your job to defend Whitney, but let me give you a game summary so far. He killed Graham and Elizabeth Byrnes. Four out of the twelve jurors who let him get away with it are dead, the last one shot to death this week. Whitney shot Nick Byrnes and my money says he did it because he could, not because he had to. Mary hired me to put a legal beating on your boy and then she disappears. And I'm leaving out the potshots at my living room window and late night heavy breathing phone calls, both courtesy of your client. Are you getting the picture here?'
'I'm getting a picture of someone who I used to think was a pretty good lawyer who needs to get a grip. When you get one, call me,' she said, hanging up.
Chapter 24
That went well, Mason said to himself, hands on his hips, surveying his office. He was stuck and didn't have the traction to get moving. Even if he did, he had no idea which direction to go. The phone rang and he grabbed it, hoping Sandra had reconsidered.
'Hello?' Mason asked.
'This here is Albert from the cemetery. I'm looking for a fella name of Lou Mason.'
'Hi, Albert. I'm Mason.'
'You the one what gimme twenty dollars to call you if someone visited your momma and daddy's grave?'
'That's me,' Mason said. 'I was there the other day. Asked you about someone leaving a rock on their headstone. You told me about Sonni Efron's funeral. I gave you a business card with the money.'
'Okay, then,' Albert said. 'I guess it's you.'
'It's me. What do you got for me, Albert?'
'Someone come by this morning. Left another of them rocks, a real smooth one, shiny too. But I left it alone. I'm
not messing with nobody's grave. I just dig 'em.'
'Did you get a look at the person?'
'No, sir. I surely didn't. They was too far away. Looked like a woman though, course you can't really tell the way some people dress and all, and the sun was kinda of in my eyes.'
Mason sighed. Albert's call was another wisp of information that evaporated without adding anything. 'Thanks for calling, Albert. She shows up again, there's another fifty if you get a name.'
'Now hold the phone there, Mr. Lou-fifty-dollar Mason,' Albert said. 'Marty, he was working down along the wall near the street. I hollered down at him, did he get a look at her. Marty says at who, and I holler back at him, that woman what put a rock on the Mason headstone. And Marty, he hollers back there's a woman pulling out from the curb right then, must be her on account of there ain't nobody else around there but him and me. So Marty, he writes down her license plate.'
Mason grinned for the first time in a week. 'Albert, you and Marty are going out for the biggest steak dinner my money can buy. Give me the tag number.'
Albert recited it, telling Mason he liked his steak well done. Mason thanked him again before making another call.
Harry Ryman picked up on the second ring.
'Harry, it's Lou. Can you get someone in the department to run a plate for me?'
Harry hesitated, clearing his throat. 'The chief is clamping down on that sort of freelancing since I retired, from what I hear.'
Mason didn't know whether that was true or not, but he knew that Harry could get the plate run in a heartbeat even if the chief had to do it himself. Harry was no more in the mood to help Mason prove Ryan Kowalczyk was innocent than he had been the last time they'd talked.
'It's got nothing to do with the King case, Harry. It's something else. Something personal. I'd really appreciate it,' Mason added.
Mason listened to Harry breathe. Harry finally said, 'Give it to me. I'll see what I can do.'
'Thanks, Harry. One other thing,' Mason added, not wanting Claire to know what he was doing. 'Keep this between you and me, okay?'
'Sure, Lou. I can do that.'
'Wait a minute,' Mason said before Harry could hang up.
'What?' Harry asked, his meter running.
'You remember telling me that the jury in the Byrnes murder trial was deadlocked for two days before they reached a verdict on the third day?'
'Yeah, so what?' Harry asked.
'Nancy Troy told me that the jury refused to talk to anybody after the trial. How did you know they were deadlocked?'
'Because, Clarence Darrow, they hadn't reached a decision.'
'That doesn't mean they were deadlocked. They could have been working through the evidence, talking about
