Lou Mason Mystery 03-Cold Truth (16 page)

Their relationship had been casual but satisfying for Mason. He'd never pretended to be operating on anything other than friendship and need. When Samantha let him know that she wanted and needed something more, he'd backed off, taking refuge in his own shortcomings as an excuse to let their affair die of neglect. He'd been relieved when she stopped calling. They had stepped gingerly back to being professional friends and he didn't want to reverse course, especially after last night.

Mason had left Jordan in an interrogation room with strict instructions that she was not to be questioned outside his presence. He made the speech for the benefit of the officer keeping her company and for Jordan, whose last protective veneer of anger had been stripped away by her brother's murder. She was tentative and jittery, making him reluctant to leave her alone until she forced a smile, said she understood and would be fine.

Sitting next to Samantha's desk in the homicide bullpen, Mason hoped she would leave the third button alone. The last thing he wanted was for her to watch his eyes wander. In spite of everything, he knew they would, even though the rest of him would stay put.

"Okay, Lou," she began. "Are you going to let me question your client?"

"No. You told me to bring her in and I did. Now we're ready to go." He didn't get up, knowing that Samantha wouldn't let him off that easy.

"We found her prints in Trent's office."

"Are you going to arrest everyone else whose prints you found? They were brother and sister. Their parents owned the building. There were lots of reasons she could have been in Trent's office."

"Of course there are. I'm sure Jordan could give me a few if you let her talk to me," Samantha said, her fingers absently straying to her third button, easing it out of the hole.

"Tempting, but not tempting enough," Mason said. "It's hard to stop after getting started."

Samantha thumbed her button back in place, turning the pages of the report on Trent Hackett's murder with a pencil eraser. "The coroner says he was hit over the head with everyone's favorite weapon—the blunt instrument—and knocked unconscious. Then the killer slammed his head into the computer monitor, lacerating his jugular vein. He bled out."

"I haven't seen a murder yet that was pretty," Mason said.

"Two vicious murders in the same building in the same week—not to mention the rather clumsy attempt to kill you—is a little out of the ordinary. Particularly when your client is tied to both victims."

"On that logic, she should be a suspect in the elevator case," Mason said, not willing to christen that investigation with his own name.

Samantha said, "She would be if she hadn't been busy confessing to killing Gina Davenport at the same time you were auditioning for
Fear Factor."

Mason shrugged, pretending nonchalance at the casual discussion of his attempted murder. "Most unhappy clients just fire me. It's a lot less trouble than killing me. What have you got on the elevator?"

"A dead suspect. Trent Hackett and his father were the only people with access to the control room and Carol Hackett alibis her husband. I'm closing the book on the elevator. Don't piss off anyone else."

"At least I can quit taking the stairs," Mason said.

"Why would Trent have tried to kill you?" Samantha asked.

"Jordan told me about the rape. Maybe Trent knew I would come after him. Maybe that explains Gina Davenport's murder too."

"Maybe, but it doesn't explain Trent's," Samantha said.

"So the circle remains unbroken," Mason said. "I know you've got more reasons that I should let you talk to Jordan. I'm not going to let you, but lay them out anyway. I had a long night and would like to take the rest of the day off."

"That's not the way it works. The gate swings both ways. You let me talk with Jordan, and I'll tell you what I know."

Mason said, "I don't need to know what you know unless you charge her, and you would have done that when we walked in if you had enough for the prosecuting attorney. I'll do this much. I'll give you good reasons to look at a few other people before you come down on Jordan."

"Such as?"

"Such as Arthur Hackett. Jordan told Gina Davenport that Trent had raped her. That's a crime, not a story. Gina was trying to get out of her contract with Hackett. That's why she cut off Jordan's treatment. Arthur would-n't let her go, so Gina upped the ante. She threatened to turn Trent in for raping Jordan. Arthur knew Gina was gone when her contract expired even if he didn't release her. He had a five-million-dollar insurance policy on her and a son to protect. That's better than nothing."

"It's not good enough. Why would he kill his son?"

"Who knows? You met the kid. Would you have wanted your daughter to bring him home? Maybe Arthur blamed Trent for the whole mess."

"Is that all you've got—a father who kills his daughter's therapist to cash in and kills his son to tie up the loose ends?"

Mason stood. "That's more than a jury will need to acquit Jordan, but you might want to try this one too. You found cocaine in Gina's office the night she was killed. Her husband Robert is a coke-head who likes to bang his student models. Centurion Johnson is still in the trade, in spite of his refurbished not-for-profit-savethe-kids-and-the-world bullshit. He raised Jordan's Sanctuary rent to include sex. She wasn't interested and split. Before she did, she found a drawer full of cocaine in Centurion's bedroom. If I had all the resources of the police department at my disposal, I'd find out if Centurion was supplying Robert and if he was, how and why that cocaine ended up in Gina's office."

Samantha put on a pair of glasses and jotted down notes as Mason spoke. "You know that knocks out Jordan's alibi for Trent's murder. She splits and her brother is found dead. Where's Jordan staying now?"

"Last night she stayed with Abby Lieberman."

"Your new . . ."

"Yeah, Sam," Mason said, soft-pedaling his response. "My new."

"Ms. Lieberman told me about the phone call she got about her long-lost daughter," Samantha said, consulting her notes. "She thinks Jordan may be her daughter. Is it a good idea to put the two of them together if Centurion figures out why Jordan skipped out?"

"No. It's a bad idea. That's why I'm moving her."

"I can offer her protective custody," Samantha said.

"Thanks. Maybe later, but I'll make my own arrangements for now."

"Blues is good," Samantha said. "But Centurion had a reputation as a very bad man before he went corporate. Blues may not be enough."

"There's Harry too," Mason said. "And me. Can I go now?"

"Sure. One last thing, Lou," she said. "Good luck with your new."

"Thanks, Sam," Mason said.

***

Mason had been inside police headquarters long enough for clouds to roll in. He put the top up on the TR-6 just as the rain began. It was a steady cleansing rain, comforting as a warm shower, dancing on the ragtop like a fountain spray.

"We'll stop at Abby's to pick up your gear," he told Jordan. "I want you to stay with someone else until things settle down a bit."

"Why can't I stay there?"

"Centurion isn't going to be happy when I tell him you aren't coming back to Sanctuary. He may pout and get over it. He may not. I want you someplace where you're hard to find being kept company by people Centurion doesn't want to find."

"Are you saying Centurion would hurt me?" Jordan asked. "Why would he do that?"

"Depends on what he thinks you saw. Centurion is smart. He's conned the Kansas City business community into giving him a ton of dough to run Sanctuary. It's beginning to look like that was just seed money to set up his new drug deal. He's not going to risk all that on whether you saw something you shouldn't have seen."

"I won't tell anyone. I promise," Jordan said, fear creeping in where anger had been.

"I'll tell him if he asks, but Centurion can't afford to believe that."

"Why are you going to talk to him?"

"He expects me to bring you back. If I don't talk to him, he'll assume the worst. If I do, he might buy what I tell him."

"What will you tell him?" Jordan asked.

"Can't wait to find out," Mason said.

***

Abby protested when Mason told her he was moving Jordan out of her loft. "She needs stability. I can give that to her," Abby said.

"She needs security more than stability until I know where things stand with Centurion. Then she needs an acquittal. After that, you can give her anything you want."

They were back on Abby's roof, the only place they could have a private conversation with someone else in the loft. Jordan was packing. The rain had tapered off, but was picking up again carried by a sharp, wet wind. The air mattress was deflated, crumpled in a corner, taking on water in its creases.

"Jordan needs me now, Lou. Don't take her away from me," Abby said, her arms folded across her body, offering faint resistance to the weather and Mason. "Why are you doing this?"

"Murder doesn't end anything except the victim's life," he told her. "It threatens anyone within six degrees of separation of the killer and the victim. People do crazy things because they're guilty or because they think the cops think they're guilty or because they're guilty of something the cops haven't even thought of. Centurion could fit into any or all of those categories. I can't take any chances with Jordan or you."

"Me?" Abby asked. "You came here to take Jordan away from me and justify it by scaring me? I can't believe it!" The rain came harder, matching Abby's fury, stinging both of them.

"Centurion knows you are connected to me and to Jordan. He won't care how or why. If he can use you to get what he wants, he will."

"That's ridiculous!" Abby said. "I've read about your other cases in the newspaper. Rachel Firestone told me all about you," she said, riding a wave of indignation. "You look for trouble. Like climbing on top of that elevator like you're some kind of an action hero. Well, I won't be a part of that!"

Abby ran inside, pounding down the spiral staircase. Mason stood in the rain, Abby's last words soaking him to the bone, before he followed her. Abby was at the door with Jordan, fussing with Jordan's hair. Mason joined them.

"Ready?" he asked Jordan.

"Yeah. What's up with you guys on the roof in the rain?" They didn't answer. Mason jammed his hands in his pockets. Abby wiped the water from her face. "You guys ought to be married," Jordan said. "You remind me of my parents."

Mason took Jordan to Daphne's B&B, a bed-andbreakfast near the Nelson Atkins Museum of Art owned by Daphne Bacchelder. Daphne had been a school secretary at an exclusive private school for wealthy kids, and those not so wealthy who could make a three-point basket, until she timed the crash in tech stocks perfectly, riding the bull market to an early retirement. Bored with retirement, she bought the B&B. She hired Mason after an audit of the school revealed that money had been embezzled. The headmaster accused Daphne, who was mortified at the charge. Mason proved that the headmaster had been the embezzler and tried to frame Daphne. Daphne promised Mason the use of a suite for the rest of his life as a bonus for saving her good name.

Mason and Samantha had been frequent guests, spending their last night together there, ending the weekend with uneasy good-byes. He had hoped to return with Abby, not Jordan. As Harry and Blues walked around the three-room suite on the third floor of the B&B, checking windows and doors, Mason explained to Daphne that no one was to know they were there. Daphne gave him a conspiratorial wink, telling him that her bad fortune was his good luck. Business was down and they were the only guests. She refused when Mason tried to pay for the suite, telling him that it was she who still owed him.

Centurion took the news that Jordan was not coming back without obvious disappointment. "That's cool, Mason," he said when Mason called him.

"I'll tell the judge and the prosecutor on Monday," Mason said. "They won't care as long as I promise she'll show up at her preliminary hearing."

"Where's Jordan stayin' at?" Centurion asked. "Terry Nix says she's got a therapy session scheduled he don't want her missin'. Says he'll make a house call if she don't want to come back here. That's the kind of dedication we got for these kids, Mason. You know what I'm sayin'?"

"Yeah," Mason said. "It's really heartwarming. I'll pass the message on and Jordan will call him if she feels the need."

"Tell you what, Mason," Centurion said. "I'm hungry. Why don't you and me meet somewhere for lunch?"

Mason took Centurion's question for an invitation he shouldn't refuse. "Sure. How about the Sidewalk Café on the Plaza?"

"Mason, look out the window, man. It's raining. What's the matter with you?"

"Don't worry, Centurion. You won't melt. I'll see you there in an hour."

***

The Sidewalk Café was on 47th Street in the heart of the Plaza. There were inside and outdoor sections, the outside covered with a heavy-duty plastic awning that was supposed to keep customers dry. The outdoor section was deserted. Even with the awning, rain blew across the tables. The hostess, inside and dry, ignored Mason as he sat at a wet table, his windbreaker zippered to his chin.

Mason wasn't hungry and didn't care about the rain. He preferred being out in the open with Centurion Johnson than in a dark booth of a quiet bar where a dead man could be mistaken for someone sleeping off a drunk.

Centurion's Mercedes glided to a stop at the curb in front of the café. The passenger window retreated, Centurion shaking his head at Mason, who couldn't see past Centurion to the driver. Centurion motioned Mason to join him, Mason leaning back in his chair, stretching his legs, picking up a menu that had been left on the table before the rain began.