Final Judgment (31 page)

That was the last thing Mason wanted her to do, but it was the only thing she could do. He’d put her in this situation and he’d have to deal with the fallout.

“I think you should tell the truth. You said you spend a lot of time checking references. Did you check Charles Rockley’s and Johnny Keegan’s?”

“Of course I did. That’s my job. They checked out fine.”

“What about Webb’s references?”

“His too. If they hadn’t checked out, they never would have gotten the jobs. The Gaming Commission ran checks on them too.”

“How did you do it? By telephone?”

“What do you think I did? Hop on a plane?”

“Easy, Lila. I’m not the piece of shit you work for,” Mason said, changing subjects. “Did Ed Fiori ever talk about me?”

“He liked you. He told me how you stood up to him and how loyal you were to your friend—the one that was charged with murder.”

Mason knew he might not get another chance to ask her about the tape. He shivered, though not from the cold. “Did Fiori have me on tape?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You and your friend and Ed. You must have asked him for help with your friend’s case and now you’re worried it’s all going to come out.”

Mason had tightened the noose completely around his neck. He’d just told a woman he hardly knew enough to figure out what he’d done. On top of that, he’d pointed Detective Griswold at her like a heat-seeking missile, and instructed her to tell Griswold everything. If that wasn’t enough, she worked for Mason’s number-one suspect in the blackmail scheme. She’d probably also tell Webb as well if he yelled at her loudly enough or asked her sweetly enough. It would have been quicker if he’d thrown himself under the wheels of a bus.

“My friend was innocent,” Mason explained, to salvage something of his reputation with Lila. “Ed helped me prove that.”

“I’ll bet he helped you a little too much.”

Mason nodded. “A little too much. I need to know if Ed taped our conversations.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know. He never let me listen to the tapes.”

“Webb showed up before you could tell me whether Bongiovanni took all of the tapes after Fiori died. Did he?”

“I don’t know that either,” she said as a ripple of cold wind wound through the trees. “Ed hid them in different places. I checked everywhere that night, but I don’t know if I got them all before the FBI got there.”

“The FBI. They were there too?”

“It was crazy. I was scrambling around looking for the tapes. Vince was hollering at me and packing everything I found into a couple of briefcases. One of the security guards called and said two agents were on their way to the office. Vince got out of there in a hurry.”

“What did the FBI agents want?”

“They tore the place apart. I asked them for a search warrant. They said they didn’t need one since Ed was dead. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Was one of them a big guy, built like a linebacker?” Mason asked, struggling for a better description of Dennis Brewer, kicking himself for not having a copy of his photograph.

“That description covers a lot of ground. But I made them show me ID. I remember names for a living and I remember theirs too.”

“Was one of them Dennis Brewer?”

“Yeah,” Lila said. “He was the big one. The other one was a woman.”

Mason sucked in his breath. “You remember her name?”

“Sure. Kelly Holt.”

Despite the cold, Mason felt a surge of heat sweep across his face. More than one piece of his past was bearing down on him.

“Did they find any more tapes?”

“I don’t know. They kicked me out. I would have called a lawyer, but Vince was the only one I knew and he ran for daylight as soon as I told him the FBI was on their way.”

Mason had drawn a dotted line between Brewer’s name and Fiori’s name on his dry erase board. He was ready to replace it with a solid line and add another one for Kelly and Al Webb.

“Have you seen Brewer hanging around the casino, maybe talking to Webb?”

She took her time, squinting and concentrating as the wind pelted her eyes. “I don’t think so. Not him. The other one, the woman, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her around the casino a couple of times. In fact,” she added snapping her fingers, “I’m positive I saw her in one of the bars with Mr. Webb. She was wearing dark glasses like she was hungover or hiding. It was maybe six in the morning. I’d come in early to catch up on some paperwork. I walked by the bar and did a double take, but I kept my mouth shut.”

“When was that?”

“A month or so ago, something like that.” She looked at her watch, her olive skin pale in the clouded light. “I’ve gotta get back. I shouldn’t have followed you. That was stupid, really stupid.”

Mason put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah. I’ll put you down as a reference when that asshole fires me.”

Mason waited until she’d been gone five minutes before he took the footpath back to his car. When he got there, a gray Crown Victoria was parked next to his. Kelly Holt stood next to it, leaning against the driver’s door.

SIXTY-ONE

Mason’s Aunt Claire once told him that the world depended on both man-made and natural law. Man-made laws were elastic, adapting to special circumstance, acknowledging changing times or bending to clever argument. Natural laws were immutable, a gift of God or nature, depending on whether one’s compass pointed to faith or common sense as true north. The law of gravity was her favorite because, without it, everything on earth would hurtle into space in a cosmic instant.

Despite Detective Griswold’s innuendo, Mason considered the possibility that Kelly would bend the law—cross the line—as unlikely as God turning the gravity switch off in a fit of divine vandalism. Yet, as Mason walked toward her, he half-expected to be launched into the void by the centrifugal fling of a suddenly off-kilter planet.

From the moment Dennis Brewer had whispered in Pete Samuelson’s ear about the body in Fish’s car, Mason had suspected that Brewer was somehow stirring the pot. He’d been there when Rockley’s body was found. He’d been there when Mason and Blues had braced Mark Hill at the bar in Fairfax. He had the skill set to break into Lari Prillman’s office and safe and then escape under cover of darkness and gunfire. And, he was tied to both Ed Fiori and Al Webb.

Mason now knew that the same could be said about Kelly Holt. She’d had nothing to do with Fish’s case until Blues was photographed outside Rockley’s apartment. When Blues had predicted that another FBI agent was backing up Brewer that night in Fairfax, Kelly had been that agent. She was no less qualified than Brewer for the black bag job at Lari Prillman’s office. Lila Collins had placed her at the casino immediately after Fiori’s death and again, only a month ago, with Webb. And, she had persistently deflected Mason’s inquiries about Brewer, certain that Mason wouldn’t consider the flip side of the coin.

Brewer was an anonymous face with a badge and a gun and wouldn’t be the first good guy who turned out to be a bad guy. Mason couldn’t yet tie it all together, but if he kept bulling his way through the maze, he was confident that he’d nail Brewer and that the rest of the pieces would fall together. He would take his well-deserved lumps for what he’d done to Judge Carter, but the laws of man and nature would put everyone and everything where they belonged.

If Kelly was dirty, if she and Brewer were in this together or if she was in it alone, he didn’t know what he would do. Even if he wanted to turn a blind eye, he couldn’t. If she had Fiori’s tape and she wasn’t corrupt, she would have confronted him by now, maybe even arrested him. If she was corrupt, if she had the tape and was sitting on it, she was a threat to him that he couldn’t tolerate.

He blinked, testing his sight and his mind, making certain neither was hallucinating. Kelly was real. Standing in the cold, hands thrust in her pants pocket, the butt of her gun visible under her arm as her open jacket flapped in the wind.

“Friend of yours?” Kelly asked when Mason came close.

“Who?”

“The woman you were talking to. The one you followed into the parking lot and then down the path. The one you gave a five-minute head start to before you came back to your car.”

“Oh, that woman. Her name is Lila Collins. She’s the HR director at Galaxy. I called her and told her I wanted to meet with her. She suggested the park since it was close to the casino.”

“It’s a cold day in the park. What’s wrong with her office?”

Mason shrugged, ignoring the pin Kelly had stuck in his story. “I guess she wanted some fresh air.”

“She know anything?”

Mason followed his gut instinct to tell her what she would find out soon enough from the cops or on her own. The rest of his gut told him not to tell her another word more.

“Johnny Keegan had asked her for the name of a lawyer. Didn’t tell her why. She’d seen me on TV and gave him my name. I called Detective Griswold and told him. He’s going to follow up with her. That’s one mystery solved. How did you find me here?”

“I called your office. That Mickey is very protective. I practically had to fax him a copy of my badge. He told me you’d gone to the casino. I drove over to find you and saw you leaving. I was going the opposite direction. By the time I got turned around, and caught up, you were turning into the park. I saw the two of you get out of your cars and decided to wait.”

“You should have called me on my cell phone.”

“Then you should have given me the number, bonehead,” she said with a smile.

Mason’s suspicion retreated for a moment in deference to his stupidity and her charm. Her story made sense and he wanted to believe her, though he knew it was just as likely that she had another reason for coming to the casino.

“Point taken,” he said, writing it down on a slip of paper and handing it to her. “For future reference. What’s up?”

“Sylvia McBride called Fish back. She’s coming in town tomorrow and wants a look at Fish’s safety deposit box. It’s set for three p.m. at the bank.”

“What about the hundred grand?”

“She told him that someone would pick it up tonight.”

“At Fish’s house? Isn’t she worried about surveillance?”

“She is and that’s why it won’t happen there. He’s supposed to stuff it in his coat, go out to dinner tonight, get a table, and go to the bathroom. When he comes back, the coat will be gone.”

“That’s a lot of money to stuff into a coat.”

“Not really. A million dollars in hundred-dollar bills only weighs forty-four pounds. A hundred thousand weighs a little over four pounds. I sliced an opening in the liner of Fish’s topcoat and dumped the money in. The coat is a little lumpy, but on him, everything looks lumpy.”

“What restaurant and when?”

“An Italian place in Overland Park called Cinzetti’s. It’s a big buffet-style place. People are always up walking around. He’s supposed to be there at seven. The place will be packed. No one will notice a thing. It’s a smart choice. Webb must have told her about it.”

“Once Fish leaves his house with that coat, I want the surveillance cameras and microphones pulled. We agreed to that only so long as the money was in the house.”

Kelly smiled. “I’m one step ahead of you, Counselor. I already gave the order. We’ll have our equipment out of there before Fish gets home from dinner.”

“Who’s going with Fish for the drop?”

“I’ll be there. Having dinner like everyone else,” she said. “Are you okay with that?”

Mason swallowed his doubts, knowing that suspicion infected everything and that being right mattered less than believing that he was right.

“Works for me. I’ve already got two dinner dates tonight.”

“Take my advice. Don’t break either one of them. Leave this to me.”

“Who’s handling the safety deposit box?”

“Fish offered up Mickey, just like you told him. Said he was grooming him to take over the business. There’s no connection to you. Sylvia went for it.”

“I better get back to the office and brief him. Are you going to cover the bank too?”

“Not by myself. Dennis Brewer will be there too. Tell Mickey that Brewer wants to meet with him in the morning to get him ready. He’ll be at your office at nine.”

They studied each other in a face-mask standoff, neither giving any ground. “Did you ever talk to Brewer about who leaked the identity of Rockley’s body?” he asked her.

“I told you before,” she said. “I’ll take care of Brewer. Just trust me.”

SIXTY-TWO

Since Abby moved to Washington, Mason hadn’t had many dinner dates and he’d never had two for the same night. Double booking had not been a problem for his social calendar.

He was supposed to meet Samantha Greer at eight o’clock. It was her birthday and their dinner her only celebration. Standing her up would turn her birthday party into a pity party she would spend staring into the bottom of a bottle.

His relationship with Abby had been revived—again—last night and there was more on the menu tonight than dinner. If he broke their date to keep Samantha company, they would be back to Code Blue.

Being in two places at once with two different women didn’t bother him nearly as much as wanting to be at a third place instead—Cinzetti’s. He wanted to see who walked out of the restaurant wearing Fish’s hundred-thousand-dollar coat.

It was past five as he drove across the Paseo Bridge, taking the south side of the downtown loop, and exited on Broadway before heading south again. The evening rush hour was picking up. People were heading home to families, dinner, and must-see TV. It was a life he’d never had, though one he now thought about having with Abby. He could be late for their dinner, but he couldn’t miss it. He called Samantha Greer first.

“Glad you called,” she said. “We’re shorthanded and I just caught a homicide. Dead body in Troost Lake. You know what I don’t get? Troost Lake is on Paseo, not Troost. Why don’t they call it Paseo Lake?”

“Why do they call it a lake? It’s barely a pond.”

“You’ve got a point. Some birthday present, huh? Not the kind of stiff I was looking for tonight,” she added with a bitter laugh. “Rain check?”