you needed him, the more you hated him.”
“Enough to kill him?”
Scott’s shocked expression was genuine. “No way! That was just a lucky break.”
“Where were you before the poker game?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t remember.”
Mason slapped him hard across the face with the back of his hand.
“Lying violates your oath as a lawyer. You don’t want me to report you to the bar association, do you? Now, tell me where you were before the poker game started.”
Scott looked away, letting out a resigned sigh. “Angela and I had a thing going. We rented a ski boat and went for a ride. Let me tell you, it’s not easy to screw in one of those boats. But Angela’s something else.”
“Why didn’t you use O’Malley and Sullivan’s condo? You had to know about it.”
“Sure, but I didn’t want to run into Sullivan. Angela and I didn’t need the publicity.”
The bleeding on Scott’s forehead had slowed, his eyes were glassy, and his nose was pink and runny. He slumped against the lockers, no fight left in him.
“By the way, how’s the family? Have you introduced Angela to the wife and kids?”
Scott shook his head, his voice weak, unable to summon any outrage. “You’re a real prick, you know that, don’t you?”
“And how’s your oldest-the one with diabetes? Must be tough, all those injections.”
“Since when do you give a shit about my kids?”
“Since right now.”
“You want to know how he’s doing? He’s fine. We control the diabetes with diet; no shots, no insulin.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
In spite of everything, Mason was relieved at Scott’s answer. Whatever else Scott had done, unless he had another source for insulin, the odds were against him having murdered Sullivan.
“I’m glad to hear that. Did Sullivan know about Quintex?”
“Not until St. John’s subpoena. That’s when Sullivan started digging into the Quintex files. He must have figured it out, because Harlan and I were supposed to meet with him Sunday night after the retreat.”
“Did Sullivan tell you that he knew?”
“He didn’t have to. He told us about the subpoena and St. John’s target letter and said we needed to talk about the work we’d been doing for Vic Jr. That was enough.”
“How could you have kept it from Sullivan and O’Malley?”
“Sullivan only cared about his own work. He gave me Quintex and forgot about it. Junior convinced his old man to do the same thing. Said he needed a chance to prove himself.”
“If Sullivan was on to your scam, that’s a good motive for murder.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t do it and I don’t know who did,” Scott said, raising his arms and dropping them in his lap, signaling his surrender.
“Why did you and Harlan leave so early Sunday morning? And don’t tell me it was to get ready for your closing.”
“We wanted to search Sullivan’s office to find out how much he knew. I got there before Harlan. He called me when he found out that Sullivan was dead.”
“Who did you call from the office that afternoon to talk about Sullivan’s death?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Angela bugged your office, you schmuck. You were screwing her, but she was fucking you.”
Scott shook his head. “I trusted her.”
“Imagine that. Who did you call?”
“It was just a number and a voice. No names.”
“And you didn’t find the disks?”
“Didn’t know about the disks on Sunday.”
“When did you find out about them?”
“At Sullivan’s funeral. Angela told me she walked into Sullivan’s office the week before. He was talking to O’Malley about having the records they needed on a CD. Angela was worried that some of our legitimate work for O’Malley would get screwed up and, with Sullivan gone, he’d fire us. None of us could afford to lose O’Malley’s business.”
“You mean she didn’t know what was on the CD?”
“If she did, she didn’t say anything about it. She was just looking after the firm’s biggest client.”
“So how did you know there was anything on the CD?”
“I didn’t know for certain. But it was the only thing that made sense. I knew Sullivan had the information and I couldn’t find it anywhere else. Everyone in the office knew you had the disks.”
“So you told your anonymous business partners I had the disks even though you knew it could get me killed?”
“I didn’t know!”
A husky voice interrupted. “Sure you did.”
It was Jimmie Camaya, standing at the opposite end of the benches, pointing a pistol at them, a silencer screwed into the barrel. Mason tightened his grip on his gun, holding it next to his thigh out of Camaya’s view.
“How do you do it, Jimmie? You always show up just when I’m getting to the good part.”
Camaya flashed his serpentine smile. “You just got bad luck, Mason. I came here to tell Scott about his retirement. Looks like you both can have a going-away party now. Too bad I didn’t get here before Scott got so talkative. But it don’t matter since you’re both dead.”
“If it doesn’t matter, then let me hear the rest of it; maybe you’ll learn something.”
Mason turned back to Scott, hoping to distract Camaya long enough to gain the edge he needed. “Jimmie says you’re lying, Scott. Says you knew they’d kill me? Is that right?”
“I don’t know which one of you is crazier!” Scott shouted. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, Lou, but I was in too deep. They told me to get the disks back-”
“Or else?” Mason asked.
“Or else Scott would end up like your partner, Harlan Christenson,” Camaya said.
Scott’s face froze. The unspeakable meaning of what Camaya said hit Mason head-on.
“You told them Harlan was being audited, and they were afraid he’d make a deal with the feds and turn all of you in, so they killed him,” Mason said.
Scott didn’t answer, but Camaya did.
“Julio snapped that old man’s neck like it was a chicken’s leg. You should have got there early, like Scotty here did. He had a front-row seat.”
Mason listened in disbelief. The tears rolling off Scott’s face and the retreating look in his eyes said it was true.
“He made me watch-,” Scott said. “So I wouldn’t forget to do what I was told.”
“And then you took Julio out with a goddamn toilet! What a fucked-up world, huh, Mason? So, Scott, you want to go first this time or watch another one of your friends die?”
Camaya pointed his gun at Scott. Mason estimated the distance between them at about ten feet.
“Jimmie, do me a favor, come a little closer, will you?”
“Why?”
“Better odds at seven feet,” Mason said, raising his gun and firing three quick rounds.
Mason didn’t know which round hit Camaya, but only one did, the others shattering the mirror behind him. Camaya squeezed off a shot as he fell to the floor, wounding Scott, who toppled onto Mason, knocking him off the bench. Mason looked up to see Blues standing over Camaya.
“He ain’t dead, but he sure bleeds a lot.”
