Webb looked around the suite, walked to the door, and closed it. He took his time coming back into the living room, stopping to examine the fruit basket, polishing an apple before setting it down. He ambled over to the windows, gazing at the full parking lot.
“You know,” he said at last, “that story you told Lila about working on a case involving Ed Fiori is pure bullshit, but I liked that you told it so well. You made it believable. That’s talent. Then, you didn’t lie to me. That’s judgment. Those are two important qualities in a man. Now what’s all this about someone at Galaxy trying to blackmail Judge Carter?”
Mason had taken a chance throwing that comment at Lila, hoping to shake her up. He expected her to press him for details. Instead, she let him change the subject to Fiori’s tapes. He had a sudden image of Webb and Lila scamming him. Lila’s job was to draw him out, find out what he knew. Webb would then burst in like a jealous husband at the first mention of blackmail. Only Webb cut them off before they got into any of the details. Maybe Lila wasn’t involved and Webb didn’t want her asking any questions. Everything in this case had at least two sides and everyone had at least two faces. The permutations were making him crazy, reminding him not to trust anyone.
“Just talk.”
“Just talk,” Webb repeated. “Who’s doing the talking? Bongiovanni? That’s the kind of rumor he’d spread. He probably hopes it gets back to the judge and makes her rule in his favor just to prove there was no blackmail.”
“Can’t help you. Client confidentiality.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Webb said, waving his hand at Mason. “Everything is confidential until you need something that’s more important than keeping the client’s secrets secret. Believe me; I know how you lawyers work. Anyway, from what I read in the paper, I would think you’ve got your hands full with Avery Fish’s case.”
Webb was back in full huckster mode, his voice silky, his manner ingratiating, and his outburst at Lila the impetuous act of another man. He dismissed Mason’s blackmail claim, more interested in talking about Fish. Mason wondered whether Sylvia McBride had already spoken with Webb, pitting Webb’s greed against the prospect of exposing his real identity. He knew that Webb was playing him, probing for anything that would help him measure the odds. Mason decided to give him something he hadn’t read in the papers, knowing that inside information was the hallmark of credibility.
“The prosecuting attorney and the U.S. attorney have ganged up on my client. They think he murdered your late employee, Mr. Rockley. They’ve offered to dismiss the federal charge and not seek the death penalty if he’ll confess to Rockley’s murder.”
“Sounds like the framework for a deal,” Webb said.
“Not this time,” Mason answered. “My client had nothing to do with Rockley’s murder and the police have no evidence that he did except that the body was found in his car. That won’t get them a conviction. He’ll never take a deal that makes him look like a killer. The state will have to back off on the murder charge and we’ll beat the federal charge.”
“Seems like quite a risk. Your client could go to jail for the rest of his life.”
Mason understood Webb’s concern. If Fish was willing to make a deal, Webb couldn’t trust him. If Fish wouldn’t deal, his proposition to Sylvia would have more credibility. He invoked Fish’s appeal to Sylvia about his grandchildren.
“My client is at an age when any prison sentence is likely to be a life sentence. If he pleads to murder one, he never gets out. If he pleads to murder two, he does fifteen years, which is the same thing. If the state drops the murder charge, the U.S. attorney says he won’t make a deal on the mail fraud. There are enough counts in the federal charges that they add up to a life sentence if he’s convicted. So, there’s no deal he can make that keeps him out of prison. His only real concern is his four grandkids. All he cares about is making certain they are taken care of.”
“Do you do estate planning as well as criminal defense work?”
Mason shook his head. “Not me. I leave that up to bean counters.”
“Mr. Fish must have a lot of money to protect if he can afford you,” Webb said.
“One thing you learn in my business is not to ask questions about how much money your client has or where he got it. All I care about is that he has enough to pay me. The rest is none of my business.”
“Another honest answer,” Webb said. “It’s trite but true. We all have a price, don’t we?”
“We are a nation of buyers and sellers,” Mason said with a tight-lipped smile, his eyes locked on to Webb’s.
“So, then. That brings us back to this business about blackmail. You wouldn’t answer my question before when I didn’t offer you anything in return. That was rude. I suppose that makes me the buyer and makes you the seller.”
“It’s trite but true,” Mason said. “There are some things that money just can’t buy.”
“That doesn’t mean they can’t be bought though, does it?”
Mason looked at him. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Then name your price.”
History was repeating itself. Webb was standing a few feet from Mason, his suit jacket open, a smartphone clipped to his belt.
Mason eased out of his chair, closing the distance between them, flashing his take-me-home-with-you smile. Webb grinned until Mason’s hand shot out, clamping Webb’s lips together. Mason shoved him against the wall while he yanked the phone from Webb’s belt. Pressing his forearm against Webb’s neck to pin him in place, he tapped the audio record app icon and listened to his conversation with Lila followed by the one he had been having with Webb. He pressed erase and turned it off.
“You figure it out,” Mason said, releasing his grip and dropping the phone to the floor.
SIXTY
As Mason pulled out of the Galaxy Casino parking lot, a Lexus pulled alongside, the driver tapping lightly on the horn. He turned and saw Lila Collins behind the wheel, signaling for him to follow her. Mason let a couple of cars cut in front of him but kept her in sight as he called Detective Griswold.
“Homicide. Griswold speaking.”
“It’s Lou Mason. How many murders have you solved today?”
“Counting the ones committed by your client-one. Forensics found fibers on the plastic wrapped around Rockley’s body that match fibers from Fish’s house.”
“Big deal,” Mason said. “The fibers were already in the trunk when the body was put in there. I’d have been surprised if they didn’t find some. That would have made it look like he cleaned the trunk.”
“Could be Fish kept the plastic in the house before he used it to wrap Rockley up. Either way, it adds to the body of evidence. You got something for me, or are you just lonely?”
“Did you talk to Lila Collins about Johnny Keegan?”
“Collins? Yeah. She’s the HR director at Galaxy. Gave us the usual employee-of-the-year crap.”
“Did you tell her that Keegan was trying to get in touch with me?”
“No. Did she tell you that?” Griswold asked.
“Yeah. Is that enough to get your feet off your desk?”
“And my ass back to the casino,” Griswold said, hanging up.
When Griswold interviewed Lila again, she was certain to tell him about Mason’s blackmail inquiry and Ed Fiori’s tapes, but Mason couldn’t help that. He had to know who was telling him the truth. At least he would get another shot at Lila before Griswold did.
She led him to Berkley Riverfront Park, a landscaped strip on the south bank of the Missouri River that drew kids, couples, and kites in nice weather but was deserted on a cold, blustery Tuesday afternoon in February.
She parked her car, got out, and walked down a footpath toward a grove of trees that provided shelter from the wind and witnesses. Mason waited until he was certain they were alone and then followed her. When he caught up to her, she was clutching her coat tightly around her thin frame, her collar bundled around her face.
“I don’t have much time,” she said. “Webb will be all over me when I get back.”
“Why are we here?”
