Lou Mason Mystery 03-Cold Truth (39 page)

"The Depot is registered as an historical landmark. The preservation people probably required it. We must be in the basement. Where's the parking garage from here?"

"Gotta be through that door over there," Earl Luke said, pointing to the far side of the room. "You go on. I'm gonna have me a look around here."

Mason stood at the door, listening and hearing nothing before he eased it open, stepping into the garage, seeing Arthur Hackett's Mercedes parked nose-first against one wall. A short, steep driveway led up to a garage door that opened onto Washington, the street bordering the east side of the Depot.

The remains of Gina's private elevator shaft were to his right, slabs of plywood nailed to what had been the elevator door. The elevator control room was next to it, its heavy steel door resembling a bank vault knocked off its hinges when the elevator crashed.

Mason turned on the light in the control room, looked at the switches that had been used as a deadly weapon. The switch labeled "Emergency Brake Release" still had traces of the powder the forensic cops had used in their search for fingerprints. A ten-inch black-andwhite monitor was mounted on the wall above the control panel. Mason turned it on, watching the snow-filled screen for a moment, turning it off when he heard another door open and Carol Hackett scream.

Mason turned the light off, stepping back in the shadows, keeping a thin view of Hackett's Mercedes. He resisted the impulse to race to Carol Hackett's rescue since, without a weapon, he was likely to die stupidly, though nobly, without saving her, an end he thought would make a poor epithet.

David Evans dragged Arthur Hackett across the garage floor to the Mercedes, a blood-splattered gun in one hand, the collar of Hackett's jacket tight in the grip of the other. Hackett, bleeding from a wound on the side of his head matching the blunt shape of the gun, raised an arm in semiconscious protest. Evans had hit Hackett hard enough to put him down but not kill him. Carol was screaming as Evans, indifferent, propped Hackett up against a rear tire.

Mason looked at his watch. It had been twelve minutes since he left Mickey, thirty since Blues had gone to Evans's house, sixty since he'd talked to Harry. By now, all three would be at the Depot, Mickey taking a brick to the front door, Blues and Harry holding Mickey back while they conducted a systematic search, Mickey telling them about the scene in Hackett's office, sending them to check that out first. Not knowing whether or how Mason could have gotten into the basement, they would leave that search for the last.

Evans opened the trunk to the Mercedes, stuffing the gun in his belt and shouldering Arthur, his back to Mason, giving Mason the opening he needed. Running hard, Mason bolted toward Evans, Carol screaming again, Evans whirling as he dumped Arthur in the trunk, reaching for his gun as Mason hit him in the gut, the impact folding Evans in half, Evans whipping his legs up, falling backward into the trunk on top of Hackett.

Evans's reflex kick caught Mason in the chin. Mason tumbled backward, skidding on the floor as Evans struggled to get out of the trunk, waving his gun. Mason got to his feet, launching himself at Evans as Evans fired, the bullet grazing Mason's shoulder, Mason slamming the trunk lid closed.

Mason felt the narrow trace of the bullet across his shoulder, more singed than shot. Carol Hackett was puddled on the floor, knees to her chest, whimpering.

Evans bellowed from inside the trunk. "Open it, Mason, or I'll kill Hackett!"

"Sorry," Mason said. "No key. I'll call a locksmith and we'll have you out of there in no time. Try not to talk. You'll conserve oxygen."

"Damn you, Mason! One more doesn't matter to me. Open the trunk!"

Mason said to Carol, "You choose. Do I let him out?"

She raised her head. "Why would you ask me a thing like that? My husband is in there. He may be dead already."

"Then it should be an easy choice for you. I let Evans out and he kills me. What does he do with you, Carol?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said.

Mason took her by the arm, pulling her to her feet, a red welt rising beneath her right eye, the imprint of the slap he'd witnessed from outside the Depot. "Don't play me, Carol," Mason said.

Carol jerked her head back like she'd been struck again, breaking away from Mason, her back to him. "You don't know anything!"

Mason said. "I know a lot, but not all of it. I know that you and Arthur were living in St. Louis at the same time as the Davenports and David Evans. I know that Arthur was selling ads for a radio station and you were working for the city in the Vital Records department. I know Gina Davenport couldn't get pregnant and couldn't adopt because her husband was an addict."

Carol turned around, her mouth open. "We were young. We had a child. We needed the extra money," she said, giving the long-rehearsed answer to the question Mason had yet to ask.

"Nothing wrong with that," Mason said. "Selling advertising was tough, I'll bet, and the city couldn't have paid much. Is that why you did it? For the money?"

"Did what?" she asked, arms folded over her chest. "I didn't do anything."

"If you don't count forging Emily Davenport's birth certificate," Mason said, Carol going pale. "You wouldn't have done it on your own. Evans must have put you up to it. How did he get to you? Was it money or sex or both?"

"Please, Mr. Mason. My husband!" she said.

"Evans isn't going to kill your husband. If he does, he knows the cops will open the trunk before I do. Besides, crocodile tears aren't your strong suit. Arthur must have hit you pretty hard tonight," Mason added, taking a guess.

Carol covered her cheek with her hand. "How could you . . ."

"How could I know?" Mason asked. "What matters is that I do know, and I know that you went to see Evans last night. You're starting to look like an accomplice to the murders of Gina Davenport and your son."

"No!" Carol said. "It was Arthur!"

"Try again. If your husband were the killer, you and Evans would have turned him in so the two of you could have lived happily ever after. Instead, Evans cold-cocked Arthur until he could get rid of him someplace else. You probably screamed because he got blood on your clothes."

"He's my husband," she hissed.

"And Trent was your son and Jordan is your daughter," Mason said.

Carol deflated, staggering backward against a pillar supporting the ceiling, Mason's words hitting harder than her husband had. "I never wanted children," she said softly. "It's terrible to say, but I didn't want them. I thought I was done after Trent was born, but Arthur insisted we adopt Jordan."

"All you wanted was David Evans. How did you hook up with him?"

Carol nodded her head, shaking with the confession. "He was the lawyer that took care of Jordan's adoption."

"He take his fee in favors?" Mason asked.

"It wasn't like that," she answered.

"It never is."

Carol said, "He told me Abby Lieberman was the baby's mother, but she didn't want the baby, that the Davenports did but couldn't adopt because of some technicalities. He made it seem like the birth certificate was a small thing, that it was an easy way to get everyone what they wanted."

"Jumping your lawyer's bones while your husband was home with the kids seem like a small thing too?"

"It must be nice to always have such a finely tuned moral center, Mr. Mason. I wasn't so fortunate. I got over David and did my job as a wife and mother," she said, squaring her shoulders and straightening her clothes, ironing out her guilt with a sharp crease.

"Don't tempt me," Mason said. "You did your job so well that when Trent raped Jordan, you and your husband swept it under the psychiatric rug."

Carol squeezed a bitter glare from narrow eyes. "What would you do, Mr. Mason? You make it sound so simple. One child accuses, the other denies. It happens a dozen times a day with children, a hundred times a week, a thousand times a year. Which one would you pick? What would you do?"

"I would have had her examined by a doctor. I would have asked the hard questions. I would have tried to find out the truth. Did you do that?" he asked, Carol not answering, Mason boring in. "No, you called Jordan a liar and let her brother call her a slut until she went crazy. Then you called Gina Davenport."

"That was Arthur's idea."

"You couldn't tell Arthur he'd picked a therapist who committed a felony to get her own baby because he would find out what you had done. Is that why he hit you tonight? Did you finally tell him?"

"He knew about the birth certificate from the start, except I told him someone else in the office had done it and that I wasn't supposed to know about it. That's why he picked Gina. He was worried Jordan would tell her therapist about the rape and that the therapist would have to report it to the social services people. He said we could use the information about Gina's baby to keep her quiet, but we didn't have to because Jordan didn't tell Gina about Trent."

"Not until just before Gina was killed," Mason said. "By then, Arthur was using the information to pressure Gina on her contract. Did Arthur know about you and David?"

"Not until tonight," she answered, fingering the welt on her face.

"It must have made for interesting dinner conversation when Arthur hired Gina to do the radio show. What a small world it is, he must have told you. I hired Jordan's shrink. Her lawyer is David Evans. Remember him, honey? He's the lawyer that helped us with Jordan's adoption. After all those years, you still had a thing for Evans and you hooked up with him again."

Carol looked away, another silent admission. Mason said, "Things really got complicated when Arthur used the information about Emily to pressure Gina on her contract. Evans couldn't have liked that."

Carol shook her head. "No, he didn't. He told me to get Arthur to back off or he'd tell Arthur about us and about what I had done."

"Some boyfriend," Mason said. "Didn't you know he was screwing Paula Sutton too?"

"I'm not proud of myself," Carol said.

"That's a relief," Mason answered.

"We were afraid Jordan was guilty. Then she confessed and we thought it would be over soon. When Trent was killed, we couldn't imagine who else could have done it."

"Innocence can be inconvenient," Mason said.

"Arthur knew you suspected him and was afraid you would find out about the phone call to Abby Lieberman."

"And you were afraid I would find out about you," Mason said.

Carol said, "After we saw the news last night about Sanctuary and the police said it had nothing to do with Jordan, Arthur knew you would keep pushing until you found out what he'd done."

"So Arthur went to see Paula Sutton to make sure she stayed quiet."

Carol looked at the Mercedes, covering her hand with her heart as the car shook from the struggle inside the trunk. Mason ignored the muffled sounds, keeping the pressure on her. "Why did you go see Evans last night?"

"Gina accused David of stealing from her and from Sanctuary. She fired him and convinced Sanctuary to fire him too. David told me Gina had embezzled the money and he was going to sue Sanctuary if the board didn't reinstate him. Arthur was trying to work it out."

"You told Evans what Arthur had done so Evans could use that against Arthur, level the blackmail playing field," Mason said. "Did Evans tell you to set up the meeting tonight at the radio station so the two of them could make a deal?"

"Yes," Carol said, fresh tears icing her makeup. "The studio is automated on Saturday night. The program

ming is all syndicated. No one else would be there."

"The negotiations must not have gone well."

"They started screaming at each other. David threatened Arthur and told him about us. Arthur hit me and accused David of killing Gina to cover up his theft. David had a gun. Then all of this happened," she said, waving her hand.

The Mercedes roared to life, its tires squealing and burning against the polished cement floor as Evans gunned the car into reverse aiming at them. Mason dove out of the car's path as it fishtailed, the rear bumper catapulting Carol against the wall, the Mercedes careening up the drive, the garage door slowly rising, the roof of the car clipping the bottom of the door as Evans swerved into the night.

Carol lay crumpled against the wall, her arms and legs askew like a rag doll, eyes open, lips barely moving, mouthing Mason's name. He leaned over, his ear to her mouth.

"Trent," she managed. "David blamed you. He said he would get even," she added, the soft puff of her last breath dying against Mason's cheek.

Earl Luke called to Mason. "Is it safe to come out now?"

"Not hardly," Mason said.

Mason sat on the floor, his back against the wall, staring at the spot where Carol Hackett died, Blues, Harry, and Mickey standing in front of him, a protective wedge. Carol's mangled body was gone, but Mason could still see her lying there, another deadly image hung on permanent display in his mental gallery, her last words a blot against his soul. Evans had pushed down the backseat of the Mercedes, climbing over Arthur Hackett, slipping into the front seat. Mason hadn't killed Carol and couldn't have saved her, but that didn't end it. The books didn't balance.

David Evans had killed Gina to get even with her for exposing his theft, and tried to kill Mason to get even with him for Max Coyle's lawsuit, using the passkey Trent Hackett had given him to get into the elevator control room. Trent, Mason realized, must have figured that out and put the screws to Evans. Evans killed Trent, rationalizing that murder as another debt owed to Mason.

***

Soon after Samantha Greer and her forensic crew arrived, Mason called Abby, telling her what had happened, promising to come over as soon as Samantha let him go. Abby, her voice brittle and sad, said okay, Mason feeling her slipping away, the violence that surrounded him and stained her too much to absorb.