Lou Mason Mystery 03-Cold Truth (40 page)

It was nearly one in the morning, cold air pouring down the basement drive from the open door forcing Mason to his feet, the flashing red glare from a squad car parked at the entrance washing the walls. Samantha, combing her hair with her fingers, her eyes hollow with fatigue, her jaw set, was running the show, listening to the latest reports from her people, saving him for the last.

"We missed him at the airport," she said to Mason.

"Evans?"

"No, the tooth fairy," she said. "He dumped the Mer-cedes at one of those private parking lots a couple of miles from the terminal. Security guard was monitoring the police band, heard the APB, and called it in."

"What about Arthur Hackett?" Mason asked.

"Dead," Samantha said. "Evans took a shuttle to Terminal A. A sales clerk ID'd him, said he bought a travel bag and some clothes."

Mason said, "He'd have a better chance of getting through airport security if he had luggage, but I'm still surprised he'd try. He'd be arrested the minute he got off the plane."

"He didn't try," Samantha said. "He took another shuttle to Terminal B and bought a ticket for Oakland, but he never got on the plane. Instead, he rented a car. It was a pretty sloppy effort to cover his trail, but it bought him some time. The rental car has one of those GPS systems, lets us track him by satellite. He just crossed into Iowa, probably heading for Canada. Highway patrol should have him in custody soon."

"What about Jordan?" Mason asked.

"Ortiz says she'll be ready to go by nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Check that," Samantha said, looking at her watch. "Make that nine o'clock this morning."

"Thanks," Mason said.

Samantha shook her head. "Don't thank me, Lou. Just do me a favor. Hang up your spurs. Let somebody else play cowboy. This isn't for you. You're not good enough or lucky enough to keep this up."

Mason breathed deeply, Samantha giving voice to his own fears. "I'm thinking about taking some time off," Mason said.

"Take it with your new. What's her name? Abby?" Mason nodded, knowing that Samantha knew her name. "Yeah, take it with her. Get him out of here," she said to Harry.

Time off with Abby. It was a simple antidote, Mason thought, driving to her loft, windows down, the chill air a brisk reminder he was alive. He'd dived into the dark water again, scraping the bottom before coming out on the other side, weary, not exhilarated. Samantha was right. He had been more lucky than good and luck was too thin a hedge against death, particularly when he had more to lose than ever before.

Mason had used the law not just to save Jordan and the other desperate clients who had come before her.

He had used it as an excuse to dive into the dark water, playing blindman's bluff with demons. He resolved to stay out of the water, unless it came with a beach, a cold drink in a tall glass with a floating umbrella, and Abby. It was time for time off.

He practiced the closing argument he would make for Abby, beginning with his love for her, of which he was certain. He would tell her that a couple of weeks on the beach wouldn't erase the memories of the last month, but it would give them time for a proper beginning. He would promise to change his law practice, give up criminal defense work—embrace the ambulance chase, he would add with a smirk she wouldn't be able to resist.

He hadn't called to say he was on the way, hoping she was asleep, not wanting to wake her. Now he wanted her awake, as wide-eyed with his vision of their future as was he. Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced to the fourth floor, fumbling with the key she had given him, calling her name.

"Abby! Start packing!" he boomed, swinging her door open. David Evans was waiting for him, twisting Abby's arm behind her back, a knife to her throat, the dark water swallowing him again.

Mason saw Evans, saw the knife, blocked them out, focusing only on Abby, his eyes promising her everything would be okay, hers not believing him, Evans slicing Abby's neck with the tip of the knife, drawing a trickle of blood, breaking Mason's silent promise.

"Paybacks are hell," Evans said.

"I'll kill you," Mason said.

"Sure you will," Evans answered. "She'll be just as dead. You'll have to live with that. I won't have to spend ten years on death row waiting to get the needle. We're even."

"All because of Max's lawsuit?" Mason asked.

"You don't get all the credit, Lou, but you did put me on the road to ruin. I could settle cheap with the other clients who complained. Especially since I was taking the money out of Emily's Fund and Sanctuary."

"I don't settle cheap," Mason said.

"You pushed too hard, cost too much money. Plus the bad publicity was a killer. The money to settle Max's case was too much to get past Gina. She caught me. I killed her. I didn't think I could do it, but I did."

"Trent figured you for the elevator since you had a passkey. Instead of telling the cops, he tried to cash in and you killed him." Mason knew he was right, and didn't care whether Evans confessed. He was buying time, blood running down Abby's neck like sand running out of an hourglass.

"That's one kid no one was going to miss. He was like you in a way. He just kept pushing until I couldn't take it anymore."

"You cut Centurion in on the skim from Sanctuary," Mason said. "That's why he agreed to kill me."

"With Trent gone, I needed someone else to take the blame. Centurion owed me."

"Carol with the car and Arthur with the gun. Back on your own."

"Necessity," Evans said.

"Why aren't you in Iowa?"

Evans laughed, pressing his knife against Abby's throat. "Why the hell would I be in Iowa? There's nobody there I have to kill." Mason didn't answer, but Evans caught on. "Oh, I get it! The rental car. I was counting on the GPS to keep the cops busy. I picked up a hitchhiker near the airport. Gave him the car and he dropped me off at a hotel and I caught their courtesy shuttle downtown."

Abby's phone rang, all three of them jumping at the noise, Mason glad to see that Evans wasn't as cool as he pretended. The phone was on a small table ten feet from Mason, three from Evans and Abby.

"If she doesn't answer, whoever is calling will get suspicious."

"I don't care if they get religious," Evans said. "She doesn't answer the phone."

Mason couldn't remember how many times Abby's phone would ring before the answering machine picked up the call. "You're having too much fun now," Mason told him. "You can't screw it up by not letting her answer. You don't want to die. You want to get away so you can gloat over my dead body."

Evans licked his lips, his eyes flashing from the phone to Mason. "Okay. There's a speaker button. Use that," he told Mason, then to Abby, "Play it cool or you die after hello."

Mason crossed to the phone, punching the speaker button, Abby answering, her voice dry. "Yes," she said, Mason loving her more for her greeting. Abby always answered by saying "It's Abby," even when he'd called her earlier that evening. She was sending a message that something was different, a little thing that could make a difference if the caller knew her well enough.

"Miss Lieberman? It's Detective Samantha Greer. I'm sorry to bother you so late and I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but I'm looking for Lou Mason. Is he there?"

Evans shook his head, Abby answering, "No, Detective. He left a while ago. I'm afraid we had a fight."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Samantha said. "And I'm sorry I bothered you."

"You should be," Abby said, summoning a low-grade outrage, continuing before Evans could cut her off. "We fought about you. He said he was still in love with you and I threw him out. I thought he'd be with you by now."

Samantha didn't answer at first, Evans edging toward the phone, pushing Abby in front of him. Samantha finally went on. "Then I'm doubly sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. I'll leave you alone now."

Evans kept his knife on Abby, reaching around her to disconnect the call. Mason took his chance, pivoting inside on Evans, grabbing Evans's knife hand, jamming his shoulder into Evans's chin, taking both of them to the floor, knocking Abby free. Mason rolled, Evans plunging the knife, catching Mason's bicep, then his chest, Mason grunting, scrambling away. Then Evans was on him, Mason blocking the knife with his forearm, blood spurting from his wounds.

Abby screamed, leaping onto Evans's back, hanging on, clawing Evans's eyes. Evans bucking Abby off him, Abby hitting her head on a brick pillar, her body limp. Evans raised his knife over her, Mason crawling toward Abby, slipping in his blood, his reach too short, Evans kicking him, the blow unfelt, the bellow of a gun spinning Evans around, the bullet taking him down.

Mason looked up, his vision clouded. Samantha was standing over him, Blues checking Evans's body, Harry picking up Abby.

"No pulse," Blues said.

"She's good," Harry said.

"He's a mess," Samantha said, Mason smiling as he passed out.

Mason kicked his legs, extending his arms in long strokes, pulling the water past him, kicking again, bubbles erupting from his nose and mouth as the surface beckoned, a gleaming light fracturing the water, voices breaking through his anesthesia-induced dream.

"He's coming out of it," Claire said.

Mason blinked, opening his eyes, the room shifting, his mouth a desert, his limbs deadweights, sensation returning in slow motion. His arm itched, an IV drip taped over his wrist, his chest tingling from electrodes tracking his heartbeat. Turning his head, seeing the equipment surrounding his bed, he broke out into a loopy grin.

"Not dead," Mason said, his tongue getting in the way.

"Not yet," Claire said, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands cupping his, Blues, Harry, and Mickey hovering behind her.

"Abby," Mason said.

"She's fine. Rest easy. We'll be back," Claire told him. Mason was too weak to argue, drifting again, Samantha watching him from the foot of his bed the next time he woke, ignorant of the day or passage of time.

"I'm tired of watching you wake up in the hospital," Samantha said, "but you look great."

"You're a lousy liar," he told her.

"You can't stand the truth," she said.

"Thank you, Jack Nicholson. What happened at Abby's?"

Samantha breathed deeply, the memory still raw. "Iowa Highway Patrol stopped the car Evans had rented, only Evans wasn't driving."

"Hitchhiker," Mason said.

"That's right. Based on what Carol Hackett told you, we figured Evans was still in town looking for you and we assumed you were at Abby's."

"You got there pretty quick."

"Blues and Harry figured it the same way and were out the door as soon as I got word from Iowa. I had to catch up to them. We didn't want to barge in without knowing what was going on, so I called Abby from the first floor of her building. She told me what I needed to know."

Mason laughed, his chest begging him to stop. "You didn't mind being the other woman?"

"At least I'm in the equation, even if it's on the wrong side," she said.

"Was it you?" Mason asked her.

"Yeah," Samantha said softly. "It was me. Ortiz called it a justifiable shooting all the way. I'm back on duty tomorrow."

"Your first time?"

"Yeah," she said again. "First time. Can't say that anymore."

"I'm sorry, but thanks," Mason told her, Samantha waving him off.

"Lou," she said.

"I know," he interrupted. "Time off."

After Samantha left, Mason found the controls for his hospital bed, raised himself up far enough to see the television, turning it on with the remote control just to find out what day it was. CNN convinced him that it was Monday morning. He'd been in the hospital since early Sunday morning, with no memory of the surgery to repair the damage Evans had inflicted.

He'd seen doctors, nurses, orderlies, friends, and relatives, but not Abby. He'd been poked, prodded, and palpated, but had not felt Abby's touch. The only information he had about her was Claire's promise that she was fine, and he wasn't certain whether he'd heard that in one of his dreams.

Mason reached for the call button, hoping the nurse would know or find out what had happened to her, his gut twisting as he speculated why she hadn't been to see him and why no one had told him more about her condition. The moment he pushed the button, the door to his room swung open, a nurse pushing Abby in a wheelchair, her dark hair pulled back from her bandaged neck, her skin as gray as her hospital gown, the nurse parking her next to his bed, leaving them alone.

Abby took his hand, Mason covering hers with both of his. "Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself," Mason answered, neither one letting go, Mason biting back tears, Abby's leaping off her cheeks.

"I don't remember the last time I made a turkey," Claire said, as she sat down at the new dining room table Mason had bought in time for Thanksgiving.

"I was sixteen," Mason said. "I brought a girl home for dinner you didn't like and you roasted the turkey until it tasted like leather. My girlfriend thought you were sending her a message and dumped me."

"This turkey tastes great," Abby said, passing the large serving plate to Jordan Hackett.

Abby never told Jordan that she had thought she might be her mother, deciding that Jordan needed a friend, not someone else with an uncertain title. She helped Jordan find a new doctor, and Jordan was going back to school, working part-time for Abby, putting her life together a day at a time before she tried to find her baby.

Mason delivered his closing argument to Abby as they walked around Loose Park two weeks after they were released from the hospital, the last apple and gold leaves clinging to the trees, the sun battling the first hard frost to a draw. He told her about the dark water, promising he wouldn't go back, telling her he couldn't take the chance of losing her.