Three To Get Deadly

by Lee Goldberg

  "My goodness, Lou. What happened? Where's Tuffy?"

  She was wearing flowered capri pants and a halter top brimming over from a firmer time in her life. Her frosted hair was piled on top of her head. She'd been lying out in the sun but was one of those people who splotched instead of tanned. Mason felt a sudden sympathy for her husband, Jack.

  "It was some crazy kids, Anna. They trashed the place. Tuffy and I are staying with a friend of mine. Anything new with you and Jack?" he asked to change the subject.

  "The SOB still wants me to take him back. He just wants that damn TR6."

  Mason lusted for the car as much as Jack, but she'd ignored his hints in their previous conversations that he'd be happy to take the car off her hands.

  "Why don't you sell it?"

  "Can I do that?"

  "The car is titled in both of your names. You can do anything you want with it."

  "But I wouldn't even know what to ask for it."

  Mason knew what he was doing, and he was only mildly ashamed of himself.

  "Let my adjuster tell you. Sloane, what's the Blue Book value on a low-mileage 1976 TR6 in excellent condition?"

  Sloane consulted his book. "Ten thousand dollars."

  "Anna, you've let this car come between you and your husband. If you have any hope at all of reconciliation, you have to find out if he wants you more than the car."

  She looked at him with the pleading eyes of one who was lost and was about to be found. "Yes, that makes sense."

  "I need a car. Normally, I'd spend a lot of time researching in Consumer Reports and haggling with dealers. But I don't have time for all that. Anna, we can help each other."

  Fifteen minutes later, Mason had endorsed his check for ten thousand dollars to Anna, she had signed the title to the TR6 over to Mason, and Sloane had sold Mason a policy on his new car. He was halfway to Sullivan & Christenson's office, top down, wind in his hair, when he realized that he'd forgotten his police escort and that he hadn't heard from Blues.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Mason felt weirdly self-conscious riding the elevator up to the office he'd been thrown out of the day before. There weren't many places he had been thrown out of, especially ones that he wanted to leave anyway.

  Yesterday, he had been angry and embarrassed. Today, he was angry and scared. He half hoped to be met by a welcome-back committee of former partners, led by Scott saying it had all been a mistake. It reminded him of kids who fantasized about their divorced parents getting remarried. His fantasy dissolved when a security guard wouldn't let him off the elevator. He rode back down and walked outside looking for a can to kick.

  Mason needed to talk to Scott. He still believed in the rule of reason, and he still trusted in the loyalty of friends, even when the friend had cut him off at the knees. He'd been trained to be a creative problem solver, but his training was for a different game, and he was running out of patience.

  It was only eleven a.m. If Scott stuck to his routine, he'd spend the noon hour in the pool at the Mid-America Club, a couple of blocks from the office. Mason decided to wait for him there.

  The Mid-America Club was a venerable Kansas City institution, which meant that it hadn't been decorated since Eisenhower was president and didn't accept Jews, blacks, and women as members until it didn't have a choice.

  Scott was the lone lunch-hour swimmer. His normal stroke was powerful, controlled, and precise, but today he was beating the water. Mason waited for him to surface at the shallow end. Five laps later, Scott stopped, pulled his goggles above his eyebrows, and shook his head at Mason.

  "What do you want, Lou?" He sounded tired, as though he'd been worn down by something tougher than a mile swim.

  "Answers. What's going on with you and O'Malley?"

  "You're out of it. Keep it that way. It's for your own good."

  "Okay. Let's try something else. Why did Sullivan revoke his will?"

  "What in the hell are you talking about?"

  "Don't tell me you didn't know. I checked his file yesterday. He executed a codicil six months ago revoking all prior wills."

  "He never said a word."

  "Have it your way. Somebody shot up my car and ransacked my house last night. I'm starting to take this personally. You owe it to me to tell me what in the hell is going on!"

  Scott didn't answer. He shook the water from his face, wiped his bloodshot eyes, and pulled his goggles down, pushing off and clawing at the water as he kicked away from Mason.

  Leaving the club, Mason grabbed a sandwich at the food court in another downtown office tower. He suppressed his fear of a repeat of last night's drive-by shooting with the myth that there was safety in a crowd. He didn't think Camaya would risk a shootout between McDonald's and Panda Express.

  He kept a watch for people shooting at him from speeding cars while he walked to the county courthouse. He checked the court file on O'Malley's case to see if anything new had been filed. Nothing. It was the same story at the federal courthouse with St. John's lawsuit. He decided to pay another unscheduled visit to St. John.

  "Mr. Mason, you're going to have to learn to make an appointment just like everybody else," St. John said as Mason walked past his secretary.

  McNamara was in his usual spot on the couch. Mason was beginning to wonder if he slept in a kennel at the foot of St. John's bed every night.

  "Look, Franklin, I don't feel much like everybody else lately. I'd like some information."

  "Gee, Counselor, don't you like getting shot at?" McNamara grinned, enjoying his keen wit.

  "Can't you housebreak this guy?" McNamara started to get up, but St. John pointed to the couch. "Good boy, Gene, that's a good boy."

  "Mr. Mason, don't press your luck. You may not have enough to go around, from what I understand."

  "I don't understand any of this. Maybe you can educate me."

  "You've obviously aggravated the wrong person. Given your charming demeanor, I know you find that hard to believe."

  "What do you know about Jimmie Camaya?"

  McNamara's ears pricked up. Mason pictured him with his tongue out, humping St. John's leg.

  "No one's ever been able to pin anything on him. He enjoys a rather celebrated reputation. If he's involved, you're in way over your head. We can give you protection if you'll tell us what you know."

  "I'll tell you anything you want, except that I'm dumber than dirt. Kelly Holt thinks he's the guy who shot up my car last night."

  "If Camaya was shooting, he most assuredly wasn't aiming at your car. My reports are that Holt returned fire. He's not used to that."

  "Does he do floors and windows too?"

  "I heard about your house. My sympathies. Such a violation. I assume that whoever did that and Camaya have the same employer. Why are you attracting all this attention?"

  "I got into this mess when Scott Daniels asked me to check the firm's exposure from Sullivan's relationship with O'Malley. It's been downhill since then."

  "Help us with that and maybe we can help you."

  Mason considered the implications of the offer. St. John thought Mason could help him nail O'Malley and the firm. Mason had mixed emotions on the subject. He didn't like the idea of being a moving target. But he couldn't get excited about putting himself in St. John's hands.

  "Thanks for your time. I'll think it over."

  Mason tried the county courthouse again in the hopes that he might run into Kelly at the public health department. The clerk told him that he had missed her by an hour.

  He started to call her when he realized his cell phone was on silent and he'd missed a message from her yelling at him for leaving without his police escort. There was also a message from Blues that he had retrieved his briefcase. He hung up and called his landline at home, checking his messages. There were three hang-ups. He couldn't think of anyone who would call and not leave a message. Unless they just wanted to be certain he wasn't home.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Mason decided to tr
y his luck with Angela. He was certain that he hadn't been restored to the office guest list, so he waited for her in the parking garage. It was a confusing maze of levels going up and down in opposite directions at the same time that even a cheese-starved rat couldn't navigate, but it made a great hiding place.

  He waited in a dark corner near Angela's car, until she had her back to him before approaching her as she opened her car door.

  "How's the radio traffic and troop movements, Angela?"

  He caught her elbows when she jumped, falling backward into him.

  "Jesus Christ, Lou! You scared the shit out of me."

  He may have, but that didn't explain why she was pressing her bottom against his crotch instead of running away.

  "Sorry. I'm just trying to be more careful in my efforts to reach old age. Can I buy you a drink?"

  She turned around but didn't back up. "I don't think that's such a good idea. You've got official leprosy, and it may be contagious."

  "Don't worry. I've had my shots. And we made a deal. I'll be straight with you if you'll be straight with me."

  "Okay, get in. But I pick the bar."

  She chose a place called The Limit on downtown's West Side. Dim lighting left him almost blind until his eyes adjusted. He was the only man in the place. The chalkboard sign at the door announced a seminar on alternative treatments for AIDS.

  "Surprised, Lou?"

  "I didn't think anything could surprise me after the last few days, Angela, but you are full of surprises."

  "Because I brought you to a lesbian bar?"

  "It's not something I would have thought—or thought about. You just seem so interested in men."

  "I am. Exclusively. I come here when I don't want to be bothered by men. These women understand that and respect my privacy. Besides, there's not much chance of running into Scott here, is there?"

  They both laughed, breaking the tension. A waitress took their drink orders, beer for Mason, a martini for Angela.

  "What's happening at the office?"

  "All hell broke loose after you and Sandra left. Scott and St. John had a real pissing match."

  "We ran into St. John on our way out. He had a court order freezing the firm's assets."

  "That's what was so funny. The two of them were fighting over whether the federal court order freezing the firm's assets trumped the state court order appointing a receiver to run the firm."

  Mason smiled at the image. "Who won?"

  Angela giggled. "I did. I told Scott we were screwed either way."

  "You have the wisdom of Solomon."

  "And very big ears. After St. John left, Vic Jr. showed up again. He and Scott had their own screamer in the conference room."

  A waitress brought their drinks. Mason sipped. Angela finished hers in two gulps.

  "What was that one about?"

  "I only caught bits and pieces, but it was mostly about the fees we charged his father for work we didn't do. In the meantime, half the staff has quit and the clients are panicked. Scott hired the security guard to keep out the press."

  "And me."

  Mason signaled the waitress to bring Angela another round. Several women waved at Angela from across the bar. She caught their eyes and waved back, all smiles. The waitress set another martini on the table and wiped up the water ring left by the empty glass.

  "Angela, I need some answers."

  "Don't ask me questions I can't answer."

  "Can't or won't? Someone is trying to kill me, and it has something to do with the firm. You know more about what's going on there than anyone else. You've got to help me."

  "You give me too much credit. All I know is what I read in the papers."

  Mason waited, not wanting to press too hard. The volume of the bar's background music had picked up, prompted by the arrival of the after-work crowd.

  "Do you remember when Sullivan changed his will last winter? You were one of the witnesses."

  "Sure. Diane asked me to be a witness. What's that got to do with anything?"

  "Did you know what changes he made in his will?"

  "C'mon, Lou. That was six months ago. I don't remember what I had for lunch yesterday."

  "I'm not interested in your diet. Just do your best. Was Sullivan in the conference room?"

  She hesitated, realizing that his questions were serious ones and that he expected serious answers.

  "No. Diane was the only one there. We waited about ten minutes, but Sullivan didn't show up. Finally, she just gave me the document and told me to sign it, and she would take care of the rest later."

  "So you never actually saw Sullivan sign it?"

  "I know that's against the rules, but we do it all the time with notary signatures."

  Mason hoped she was loosening up, so he decided to take the plunge. "Angela, do you remember our conversation the day after Sullivan's body was found—"

  "—when you did your big-shot impression and told me you were in charge?"

  She couldn't resist the chance to tease him. He smiled without taking his eyes off of her.

  "Actually, that was old news by the time I got to your office. You already knew, and I've been wondering how you got the word so quickly."

  She reddened, swirled the ice cubes in her glass, and drained it. She looked down the length of the bar as she answered.

  "Like I told you, Lou, radio traffic and troop movements."

  "I don't think so. Only Scott, Harlan, and I knew before the partners' meeting. I was the first one in your office after the meeting. Try me again."

  No answer. Mason took the telephone bug out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. Angela's death grip on her glass was answer enough.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  "You had me going for a while, Angela. You followed the first rule of the con artist. Tell the truth you have to tell. A little honesty buys a lot of credibility and makes it easier to lie about the important stuff."

  She wouldn't look at him, but she looked her age for the first time since he'd known her. She shrugged, as though it was no big deal.

  "All I wanted was something I could use to bargain with Sullivan. I knew that he'd hold my unauthorized loan from the firm over my head forever. There weren't enough blow jobs to pay that debt off."

  "So why bug Scott's phone and Harlan's phone too?"

  "I didn't care where I got the information as long as I could use it."

  "When did you find out about the subpoena?"

  "After the retreat. I came to the office every Sunday night to check the tapes. Scott had called someone, and they talked about it."

  "Who did he call?"

  "It was a man's voice that I didn't recognize."

  "Why did you remove the wiretaps from their phones and not Sullivan's?"

  "God knows I wanted to. I was afraid what Scott might do if he found out. I didn't want to deal with another partner who could blackmail me between the sheets or anyplace else. So I got rid of the ones in Scott's office and Harlan's office first. I was going to take out Sullivan's, but the cleaning crew showed up. I didn't want someone saying they'd seen me in Sullivan's office, so I left. I planned on getting rid of it on Monday, but you ordered his office sealed before I could."

  "What did Scott and the other man talk about?"

  "Scott told the other guy that Sullivan was dead. Then Scott told him that he'd convinced you to handle the grand jury subpoena. The guy got mad, but Scott told him that he could control you. Then the guy told Scott to find some documents and hung up."

  "What documents?"

  "I don't know."

  "Where are the tapes, Angela?"

  "In a safe place."

  "Does anyone else know they exist?"

  "No. An FBI agent interviewed me last week. He asked about the wiretaps but I didn't confess."

  "Did he interview you at the office?"

  "At home. He said he didn't want to disturb me during the day because he knew how crazy things must be at the office."

&
nbsp; "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "He said the FBI's investigation was very confidential and that I should keep quiet. Otherwise, the suspects could be tipped off. Since I knew who had done the taping, I wasn't about to open my mouth."

  "What was the guy's name?"

  "I don't remember, but he gave me his card." She fumbled in her purse and produced Gene McNamara's business card.

  "Angela, I need the tapes. Someone tried to kill me. The tapes may help me figure out what's going on."

  "Sorry, Lou, but I'm not sticking my neck out. They'll find out who did the taping, and then I'm finished."

  "Just give me the tapes, Angela, or at least let me listen to them. I'll make certain your name stays out of it."

  She stopped stirring her drink and looked at Mason as if about to answer. Her gaze went over his shoulder to the front of the bar and froze.

  "Oh, shit!"

  She looked down, but it was too late. They had company. Mason turned around.

  Diane Farrell took a long drag on her cigarette, dropped it on the floor, and ground it out with her heel. She began a slow walk toward them, stopping along the way to kiss one woman and squeeze the butt of another.

  "Well, Lou, are you coming out of the closet or are you just curious? Really, Angela, I thought you had better taste."

  She dismissed Mason with a pathetic sigh, gave Angela a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and headed for the bar.

  "Let's get out of here," Angela said. She left a twenty-dollar bill on the table and he followed her out.

  "Sorry, Lou," she said hurriedly as he caught up to her. "You'll have to walk back to your car."

  "I don't get it. It's no big deal when you take me into that bar. Then Diane shows up, and you can't wait to get rid of me."

  "You're right, you don't get it."

  "Then what is it?"

  "You're the problem. Scott told the staff that we weren't supposed to talk to you or Sandra. I've got enough problems without losing my job. Don't do this again."

  "We can help each other."

  "I don't think so. Good-bye."

  The air was thick and still. The peaks of the thunderheads were no longer visible as clouds rolled over the city. People quickened their pace. Mason marched in double time, watching the clouds and the cars.