Deadlocked (12 page)

"Nice speech," Blues said, standing in Mason's doorway. "Bad idea, but nice speech."

Mason had been so focused on delivering his closing argument to Nick that he hadn't noticed Blues, a big man to overlook, loose fitting slacks and shirt disguising his power build, soft-pedaling his capacity for sudden violence. Blues had bailed Mason out of more than a few jams, using a mix of rough justice and hard muscle that filled the gaps left by the niceties of the law.

Blues's presence was a swift reminder to Mason that his speech sometimes looked better on paper than it did when the other guy refused to play by the rules. Mason wanted the rules to be enough this time, but Blues's comment was a reality check.

Mason hadn't talked to Blues about the King case, or much else, since Blues told Mason he wouldn't help him. While drafting the lawsuit, Mason had convinced himself that he didn't need Blues's help after all. He would win this case the old-fashioned way: in front of a jury. It might not be enough to bring Abby back, but it felt right.

He wasn't surprised at Blues's attitude, though he didn't want Blues to share his doubts with an eighteen-year-old kid who would be easy to shake up.

Nick looked at Mason. "Who's he?"

"Wilson Bluestone Junior," Mason answered, punctuating the name with a reluctant sigh. "He's a piano player and my landlord. People call him Blues because he's got such a positive outlook on life."

Nick jumped to his feet. "You were one of the detectives who caught Kowalczyk and King." He stuck out his hand, Blues taking it. "I never got to thank you for everything you did. I mean I was just a kid then. I didn't realize you two knew each other."

"Oh yeah," Blues said. "We know each other real well. Let me see that lawsuit you're so excited about."

Nick handed Blues his copy, standing between Blues and Mason, hands on his hips. "Wow! What a team! Mason and Bluestone. We're going to kick Whitney King's ass, man!"

Blues tossed the papers on the table in front of the sofa. "So long as he doesn't kill you first, Nick."

Mason started to protest, Blues holding up his hand, Nick interrupting, his jaw dropping. "What are you talking about?" Turning to Mason, "What's he talking about?"

"I'll tell you what I'm talking about," Blues said. "Are your grandparents still alive?"

"Yeah," Nick answered.

"What do they think about you filing this lawsuit?"

Nick rolled his shoulders, shaking his head, looking at the floor. "They don't want me to do it. They say it will only stir up bad memories."

"They could have filed the lawsuit for you anytime you were growing up, but they didn't. Whitney King knows that. He knows without you, there's no case," Blues explained.

"What are you are trying to say?" Nick asked.

"You hired the best lawyer in town, as far as I'm concerned," Blues said. "But if you file that lawsuit, you're going to need a bodyguard, not a lawyer. If King is the bad man you think he is, he's bad enough to kill you, son, maybe even go after your grandparents to make sure they don't have any second thoughts. The way a killer thinks, that's a lot simpler than letting Lou kick his ass in the courtroom. Cheaper too. Like I said, Lou. Good speech. Bad idea."

"Kill me and my grandparents?" Nick asked. "You've got to be kidding, man! If I file this lawsuit and anything happens to us, King is the first one the cops are going to come after."

Blues nodded. "That's the way you and I think, but not King. He's been down that road already. He beats one murder rap, he starts thinking he can beat them all. Killing people isn't a risk to someone like him. It's the way to solve problems."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Nick pled. "Let him get away with it? Forget about it? That's bullshit, man!" Nick said, hands at his sides, fists clenched, eyes flaring, bouncing between Mason and Blues. "Come on, Mr. Mason! Help me out, here!"

Blues cut Mason off again. "It's not a perfect world, son. A lot of bad things happen and some of them can't be put right. Getting you or your grandparents killed would just be another one."

"That's enough, Blues!" Mason said, standing, putting his hand on Nick's shoulder. "No one is going to get killed over a lawsuit." Mason stepped in front of Nick, shielding him from Blues's warning, ignoring his duet with King the night before. "If we have to, we'll get a restraining order to keep King away from Nick and his family."

"That so? How many pieces of paper does it take to stop a bullet?" Blues asked. "Rachel called me this morning. Said you and King had a little dust up last night at Camille's. Said she was worried about you. Said King threatened you if you filed that lawsuit. Rachel said he would've killed you on the spot if he could have figured how to get away with it. Lou, you want to do the dance with Whitney King, that's your business. Dragging this innocent boy into the mix, putting him in harm's way. That's something you should think twice about."

Nick crossed his arms, pressing his fists against his chin, blood flushing his face. Mason reached out to him. Nick turned away. Mason couldn't believe Blues was trying so hard to torpedo his case. He'd understand if Blues had voiced his concerns privately, but doing it in front of his client had only one purpose: frighten Nick into walking away. Blues had his own reasons for discouraging Mason, but Mason wouldn't let him hide behind concern for Nick's safety to sabotage the case.

"It's kind of late for you to be worrying about putting innocent boys in harm's way, don't you think, Blues," Mason said. "Or are you just trying to balance the books. Scare the piss out of Nick to make up for what happened to Ryan Kowalczyk."

Blues gave Mason a hard stare, his unblinking eyes erecting a wall between them. "The past is past, Lou. The dead don't need anybody else to die for them."

"Well, I'm not going to die for fucking Whitney King!" Nick said. "He might die, but not me!" He stormed out of Mason's office.

Blues shook his head and followed him.

Chapter 15

Mason slammed his office door, hoping the knob caught Blues in the back, wincing from the advice Blues had given Nick. Mason marched to his desk, ripped a handful of steel-tipped darts from a drawer, and let them fly at the circular target on the opposite wall, not satisfied until the darts punctured the rubber and fractured the plaster behind it.

Mason wasn't angry at Blues just because he'd interfered. He was mad because Blues was right and Mason had ignored the obvious danger to Nick the lawsuit would bring. He had gotten wrapped up in a personal fight with King, making the case about him and not about his clients. Killers didn't play by the rules. Mason was kidding himself to think that King would let him control the battlefield, choosing one where the only ammunition was words.

He had to admit that Mary Kowalczyk could be in danger too. A pardon for Ryan meant a public admission that King was the killer. It wouldn't matter to King that Mary didn't want any money. All King cared about was squelching any effort to resurrect the case against him. Mason couldn't blame him for that. Admitting the possibility that King would settle both cases by killing his clients underscored Mason's belief in King's guilt.

Mason called Mary, but her answering machine told him to leave a message. Mason told her to call as soon as she got home, that it was important.

Though he was concerned for their safety, Mason wasn't ready to quit. Not that easily. If he could put the case against King together before Nick's statute of limitations expired, he'd take his proof to Samantha Greer and get police protection for Nick and Mary.

If Samantha turned him down, he'd go to Blues. Blues was a hard man, living by his own often violent code. Mason had all but accused him and Harry of being responsible for Ryan's death, a charge more emotional than accurate. Harry and Blues had investigated a crime, taken the evidence to the prosecuting attorney, and let the system take over. A system Blues was the first to criticize for its failure to find the truth.

If Ryan Kowalczyk shouldn't have been put to death, it wasn't Blues' fault. Everyone except Blues would agree with that. He would hold himself responsible. That's the way his code worked. If Mason could convince Blues that Ryan was innocent, Mason would take his chances with the code, counting on Blues to pay his debt.

He opened the dry erase board, his eyes immediately drawn to Sonni Efron's name. The jury had a secret pact, Nancy Troy had said. It was time to talk to the jurors.

Shuffling through the boxes Nick had left him, Mason found a list of the jurors with a quick summary of their backgrounds. Holding the page in one hand, he added the information to the board.

Iver Clines George Tasker White, male, age 63 White, male, age 40 Retired machinist Insurance salesman Lives in Raytown Lives in Romanelli Married, 2 kids Divorced, 3 kids

Miguel Bustillo Nate Holden Hispanic, male, age 36 Black, male, age 44 Truck driver Owns restaurant Lives on west side Lives in Grandview Divorced, no kids Married, 1 kid

Troy Apple Sonni Efron Black, male, age 22 White, female Student, Housewife, age 38 Lives on east side Kansas City Single, one kid Married, 2 kids

Andrea Bracco Martella Garvey White, female, age 27 Black, female Secretary Teacher, age 38 Lives in Gladstone Lives on east side Single Married, 4 kids

Judith Dwyer Lisa Braun Black, female, age 50 White, female Nurse CPA, age 41 Lives in Red Bridge Lives North KC Divorced, no kids Single

Frances Peterson Janet Hook White, female, age 36 Black, female Sells real estate No job, age 24 Lives in Brookside Lives east side Divorced, 1 kid Single, 3 kids

The list looked like any other jury he'd ever seen. Blacks, whites, Hispanics. Married, divorced, single. White collar, blue collar, and unemployed. Nothing to suggest why they would have taken an oath of silence. At least one of them, Sonni Efron, was dead, another murder victim. Mason hoped her death would prompt the others to talk.

He opened the phone book, looking up each juror's name and realizing that his information was fifteen years old, jotting down the list of phone numbers that could belong to each. The hope that they all still lived in Kansas City, or that they were all alive, defied actuarial wisdom, but he didn't need all of them. He only needed one who would tell him the truth.

He got lucky with the first name on the list. Iver Clines was in the book, still listed in Raytown, a small city in eastern Jackson County.

"Is Mr. Clines home?" Mason asked the elderly woman who answered on the second ring.

"I'm sorry," the woman answered. "My husband passed away."

"Then I'm the one who is sorry," Mason said. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but when did he die?"

"Almost fifteen years ago. Hit and run. They never found the driver," she added, anticipating Mason's next questions.

Mason thanked her and hung up, imagining a wife who so missed her husband that she kept his name listed in the phone book fifteen years after his death. Equal parts devotion and denial, Mason guessed, the ache of Abby's departure simmering beneath his scar. He squeezed the phone, as if to force it to ring with Abby on the other end. She was too compulsive not to check her messages, too stubborn and angry not to ignore his.

Mason worked the phone into the late afternoon, leaving messages, crossing out numbers that didn't match, adding new names and numbers that might lead him to the jurors. He found George Tasker's brother who told him that George was dead, killed four years ago when someone accidentally shoved him off a crowded curb into the path of a bus, whoever it was disappearing in the confusion, never caught.

Miguel Bustillo's mother added her son's name to the list of deceased jurors, telling Mason her son had been shot in the face a year ago while parked at a truck stop, eating his dinner in the dark, the case still unsolved. Mason felt a jolt of his own when she said her son had been shot in the face. Sonni Efron had died the same way. He offered his condolences as Miguel's mother sobbed.

Mason couldn't confirm the fate of any of the other jurors, but he didn't like the trend. Two jurors killed in accidents that didn't sound like accidents. Two jurors shot in the face. Using a red marker, he wrote
dead
on the dry erase board across the names of Clines, Tasker, Bustillo, and Efron.

The odds that a third of the jury would die violently were too stunning to contemplate. The chances that their deaths were not connected to their jury service defied Mason's rule against coincidence. The likelihood that Blues was right about the danger of the lawsuit stuck in Mason's throat, prompting another call to Mary Kowalczyk and another message left on her machine.

Taking a break, he straightened the papers on his desk, coming across the obituary for his parents. He read it again, this time aloud, giving voice to the short story of their lives, trying to draw these distant relatives closer to him. His voice quivered at the end when he read the names of the six pallbearers: Jake Weinstein, Michael Rips, Randy Allenbrand, Doug Solomon, Frank Roth, Jeff Sanders.

They were names he'd never heard before. How could that be, he asked himself. Pallbearers were chosen for their close relationship to the deceased. Yet he'd never heard nor seen their names in his entire life. How, he wondered, could Claire omit them from his upbringing? If they were so close to his parents, why didn't they take an interest in him? It was as if another door had opened into his past, and darkness was the only thing on the other side.

Mason wrote the names on a piece of paper, tacking it to the cork on the inside of the dry erase board door. He opened the phone book again, anxious to learn whether pallbearers had a better survival rate than jurors.

Chapter 16

Mason closed the phone book without writing down a single number. He knew what the King case was about and what he wanted to ask the jurors. He didn't know what he would say to the pallbearers. Tell me about my parents, he could ask them. Another question: why don't I know you? Is there anything I should know about my parents that my aunt, my closest living relative, the woman who raised me, left out of the family history, because if there is, I would really like to know. And, while we're at it, do you have any idea why Claire kept the truth about my parents from me?