“Either it was a coincidence, and I don’t believe in coincidences, or the killer knew there was a connection between Fish and Webb and wanted to take advantage of it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Once the body was identified, the cops would look for a connection to Galaxy since Rockley worked there and was in the middle of a sexual harassment suit. After they made the connection between Fish and Webb, they’d have to take a hard look at Webb.”
“But they haven’t made the connection,” Blues said. “You told me that the cops are only looking at Fish.”
“Griswold made some noise about Mark Hill, but that’s over since Hill was killed. Now they want to talk to Fish about that murder too.”
“The feds must not have told the cops about Webb.”
“You’re probably right,” Mason said. “Pete Samuelson and Kelly both said they had to protect their investigation. They wouldn’t tell the cops that Webb is really Fish’s old scam partner because the cops would go after Webb and Webb would figure out why. That would blow the lid off their investigation.”
“Only people that would know all of that have FBI Agent printed on their business cards. You thinking Kelly or Brewer killed Rockley?”
Mason shuddered at the image of Kelly hunched over Rockley’s body, sawing away at his neck and wrists. Whatever she may have become, he couldn’t accept that she was a killer. It was easier to imagine Brewer as the butcher.
“Not Kelly-maybe Brewer. Someone at Galaxy must have tipped off the FBI that Webb was really Wayne McBride. Maybe it was Rockley and that’s why he was killed. Or, maybe it was Johnny Keegan and that’s why he wanted to hire me. Either way, Brewer knew that Pete Samuelson was going to use Fish to close the loop on Webb.”
“Guys like Webb would give up their grandma to make a deal,” Blues said.
“Or their silent partner, especially if he happens to be an FBI agent.”
“So Brewer kills Rockley to slow down the investigation and cuts his head and hands off to slow it down even more. I can buy all of that, but why would Brewer dump Rockley’s body in Fish’s car?”
“Sends a powerful message to Webb to keep his mouth shut,” Mason said.
“Remind me about your plea negotiations on Fish’s mail fraud charge. When did the U.S. attorney demand that Fish help them with the investigation of Webb?”
“Officially, not until after they found Rockley’s body in the trunk of Fish’s car,” Mason said. “Up until then, we were just trading dollars and days. But I think Pete Samuelson was about to make the pitch when Brewer walked in and dropped the hammer. What’s your point?”
“Webb killed some dude and used the body to fake his own death. He got away with it until he started skimming from Galaxy. Rockley or Keegan tipped off the FBI that Webb was really McBride. Now, they don’t just want him for stealing. They want him for murder. They set up a reunion between Webb and Fish hoping that Webb will tell Fish all about it so they can make the murder case against Webb.”
“But if Fish is convicted of Rockley’s murder, he makes a lousy witness against Webb,” Mason said. “That’s why Brewer left Rockley’s body in the trunk of Fish’s car-to frame Fish and ruin his credibility as a witness against Webb.”
“Makes sense for Brewer to kill Rockley, but it doesn’t make sense for him to leak the identification of the body. It was going to come out in a few days anyway.
“Actually, it does,” Mason said. “Rachel wouldn’t have run that story without corroboration from two sources. She already had it from one source when she went to Brewer. He gave it to her because it was going to come out anyway and he knows the killer wouldn’t do that. At the right time, he’ll probably admit to being the source.”
“Maybe so. But the whole thing makes my hair hurt. Most people don’t plan so carefully when they kill someone unless they’re a serial killer or a pro. Usually, it’s all about hot money, hot blood, or hot pussy. They shoot first, then do something really stupid and get caught. We’re trying too hard to make everything hang together.”
Mason let out a sigh. “You got any better ideas?”
“The FBI got my picture when they opened up somebody’s e-mail. Had to be Webb’s. When I was checking out Rockley’s apartment, one of his neighbors told me that someone else had been asking around for him. Could be that was the cat that took my picture and e-mailed it to Webb. We find out who sent that e-mail we might find out something worth knowing.”
“I imagine one of your people could hack into Webb’s computer, but that’s going to take time,” Mason said.
“We won’t have to do that if Lila Collins does it for us,” Blues said.
“That’s taking a big chance. You think she’d do it?”
“You said she loved Ed Fiori and she hates Al Webb.”
“I’ll call her in the morning,” Mason said.
“Morning may be too late. Call her now.”
“I don’t have a phone number for her.”
“Got a name, don’t you? That’s enough for my man that ran the license tags,” Blues said. He flipped open his cell phone, punched in the number, and explained what he needed. “I hear you, brother man,” he said before hanging up.
“Done?”
“Gonna be done. The tags were on his account. This one is on yours. He’ll leave you a message on your cell phone. What about Judge Carter? What are you going to do about her?”
Mason shook his head, looking at his watch. It was just past midnight, Wednesday morning.
“I’m about out of options. She’s going to issue her decision on Friday. We’re caught in the middle of a clusterfuck that’s getting us no closer to the blackmailer. If I don’t come up with something better, I’ll go public with what I did, take the responsibility, and do my best to cover for her.”
“They’ll punch your ticket, you know that.”
Mason smiled at Blues. “Yeah, well. I can always tend bar for you or write mysteries like every other lawyer who burns out on the practice.”
“I was you,” Blues said, “I’d study up on mixing drinks.”
SIXTY-EIGHT
It was close to 2 A. M. when Mason knocked on Abby’s door. He hadn’t called because he didn’t want to give her the chance to tell him not to come over. He would have come anyway, adding one more offense to his charge sheet. She didn’t answer and he knocked again, uncertain whether she was asleep or too angry to open the door, though both were possible. He knocked again as she unlocked the door.
She was wearing washed-out jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair was matted from sleep and her eyes were puffy. A lamp was on in the small living room. She leaned against the doorframe, holding the edge of the door in her other hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that I’m sorry I’m late and that I screwed up our evening.”
“Now I know what it means. Good-bye.”
She started to close the door and he caught it with the flat of his hand. “Abby, give me a break. Let me explain.”
“You mean there’s more?” she asked, running one hand through her hair, dropping her arms to her sides.
She was angry, but not in the volcanic style of their past fights. She was too subdued, as if she’d said good- bye before he got there. The prospect that he’d already lost her drained the blood from his heart.
“Yeah. A lot more.”
