“Then why won’t you answer my questions?”
“I did. You just didn’t like the answers. It’s your turn. Was Brewer the leak?”
Kelly blew her exasperation away in a fog of frosted breath. “You are beyond salvage. You know that? Beyond salvage.”
“So sell me for scrap, but tell me about Brewer first.”
She took a smaller breath that calmed her. “I don’t know. Proving that Brewer was the leak is almost impossible unless Rachel Firestone has him on tape and agrees to give it up.”
“Rachel will never give up her sources.”
“Then I’ll probably never know if Brewer was the leak.”
“Which makes us even. You don’t like my answers to your questions and I don’t like your answers to mine.”
“You always get in over your head. You can’t help it any more than Avery Fish can resist trying to steal the government’s money. I can’t keep my eye on both of you. Talk to me before it’s too late,” she said.
Mason tried staring her down, but there was more steel in her eyes than in his. He would have settled for a smart-ass comeback, but he didn’t have one. All he had was a twisted gut he was about to choke on. He walked away without answering, not stopping until he reached his car. He opened the driver’s door, lingering for a moment, looking back at her. It was still early, the street quiet. He ducked behind the wheel, fired the ignition, and drove away wondering if it already was too late.
FIFTY-FIVE
Vince Bongiovanni made enough money suing corporations to build a building with his name on it, complete with corporate logo and slogan- Doing the People’s Business. The logo was a golden eagle in flight holding silver scales of justice in its beak and was positioned above the entrance at an angle to reflect the sun off the eagle’s shiny wings and bounce it again off the silvery scales. It was a not so subliminal message to potential clients to stop by and pick up their money.
The building was located at the intersection of Rockhill Road and Brush Creek Boulevard, east of the Plaza. The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art loomed over its shoulder to the north. The Kaufman Foundation, devoted to education and entrepreneurship, sat across from it. The Stowers Institute, dedicated to curing cancer, rose on the opposite corner. The University of Missouri at Kansas City occupied the fourth corner of the intersection. Bongiovanni said that his building was dedicated to justice and was, therefore, a perfect complement to his neighbors.
His firm was on the third floor, the bottom two floors rented to other lawyers in pursuit of justice as their clients defined it. His private office would have accommodated three or four of Mason’s, the artwork alone worth more than Mason’s annual gross.
Mason tried not to be jealous, remembering his Aunt Claire’s admonition not to be a prisoner of his possessions. Still, he conceded a twinge of envy, noting how well things had gone for Bongiovanni and wondering if he could have done the same had he stayed with the law firm he started with when he graduated from law school, a small group that had also grown rich representing plaintiffs. He’d left that firm in a dispute over ethics, though with the passage of years it was hard to remember the details or summon the passion of that moment.
Ancient history, he told himself, though Kelly had been right when she said there was no such thing as ancient history, if the phrase was supposed to mean that the past was dead and buried. Life was much more of a loop, colliding with the past, than it was a straight line running away from it.
Bongiovanni showed him into his private office, motioning him to a chair, taking the one opposite Mason, who declined his offer of an espresso. Wynton Marsalis’s Magic album was playing on the sound system, speakers and components invisible, riffs, rhythms, and melodies layered like a canopy above them. A CD case lay on the table. Mason couldn’t tell if it was for the music or something else, remembering the CD that had been stolen from Lari Prillman’s safe. Bongiovanni was using it as a coaster for his coffee cup.
“Might as well get down to it,” Bongiovanni said. “I need help with Charles Rockley.”
Rockley’s history as a sex offender would blow the lid off of Carol Hill’s case, especially if Galaxy knew about it, ending any doubts about Carol’s credibility and hoisting Galaxy onto the liability hook. Bongiovanni would smack Galaxy in its corporate face with that evidence. It would also put more pressure on Vanessa Carter to reopen the hearing before issuing her ruling. That realization was like twin screws on a vise around Mason’s neck. But it was all he had to give Bongiovanni. If he got a tape of his conversation with Ed Fiori in return, it might be worth the risk.
Mason nodded. “Maybe you should reconsider settling the case.”
“I told you before. We aren’t interested in anything but Judge Carter’s decision.”
Bongiovanni had described Carol’s case as a toss-up, yet neither of them would consider settling it. Mason’s information about Rockley would only harden their determination to make Galaxy suffer.
Bongiovanni picked up his coffee cup, giving Mason a good look at the CD case. Mason had boxed himself in. He had to give Bongiovanni something, and the truth about Rockley was all he had.
Bongiovanni tapped a corner of the CD case on the table in a failed effort to match the beat of the music. Mason winced, each tap like a needle piercing his skin. He bit his tongue to keep from licking his lips, unable to take his eyes off the CD, desperate to know if he was on it, his past about to collide with his present.
“You all right?” Bongiovanni asked. “You look like you’ve got the DTs.”
Mason forced a smile. “Late night, early morning. I’d like to get a look at what you found in Ed Fiori’s office.”
“You keep telling me that and I keep wondering why. It couldn’t involve Carol’s case since Ed has been dead for three years and she’s only worked at Galaxy for a little over a year. So it has to be something personal to you. I did Ed’s legal work or farmed it out so I know he never retained you. Which means your business with him wasn’t of the sort you normally did. How am I doing so far?”
“I’m not a jury. You don’t have to convince me.”
Bongiovanni smiled. “Uncle Ed was an interesting guy. Some days he was good and other days he was bad. He liked to play around the edges. That must be where the two of you did some business-around the edges, I mean. Whatever it was, you figured it died with Ed, but you couldn’t be sure and you’ve spent all this time waiting for the other shoe to drop. This case comes along and gives you the chance to trade some information for peace of mind. That about it?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Makes all the difference. Peace of mind doesn’t come cheap. I hope you’ve got something worth it.”
Kelly Holt had made the connection between him and Ed Fiori, though she hadn’t filled in all the gaps. It wouldn’t be long before she found her way to Judge Carter. Bongiovanni had a completely different piece of the story. If he sensed it would help him in his private war against Galaxy, he’d keep pushing until he too found his way to Judge Carter and the blackmail scheme.
He had to beat both of them to the finish. He felt like he was being chased by a pack of dogs and was throwing fresh meat over his shoulder to spur them on. He took a deep breath and tossed Bongiovanni another morsel.
“Charles Rockley’s real name was Tommy Corcoran. He had a record for sexual assault. If you can prove Galaxy knew that, you could end up with the casino and the rest of the hotel.”
Bongiovanni whistled. “Brother, you do deliver the groceries. How do I prove that?”
“Subpoena his records from the FBI.”
“I’ll need a witness to testify.”
“Forget about the witness. Go to Lari Prillman. She’ll convince Galaxy to settle. You can call a press conference, declare victory, and embarrass the hell out of them.”
“Look around you, man! You think I give a shit about splitting another fee fifty-fifty with Uncle Sam? When Ed was killed, he was in debt up to his eyeballs. Those bastards at Galaxy bought the loans on the casino and the hotel before Ed was in the ground. Then they foreclosed. I tried to pay off the loans, but they wanted the properties, not the money. My aunt was left with nothing. I sued them and lost. I told my aunt I would take care of her, but she
