The Boy from Berlin
Michael Parker
Contents
Title Page
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
PART TWO
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
By the same author
Copyright
PROLOGUE
Edna Mahan Correctional Facility, Newark, New Jersey. 2010.
BABS MASON KEPT picking at the loose thread in her prison skirt. It was almost like an unconscious gesture, twisting it in her fingers as she looked around her cell, and up at the bulkhead light recessed into the ceiling. When the young writer sitting opposite got no response to her question, she put it to Babs again. She had a small voice recorder beside her and a notepad resting on her lap.
‘What year was it?’ Babs repeated the question finally, turning to look at the young woman.
‘Yes, the year you met your husband.’
Babs couldn’t think for a moment. Her mind refused to batten down and concentrate, set as it was on other things. The young woman’s presence didn’t help either. Babs envied her youth, her freshness and most of all, her freedom. It distracted her and became a point of focus, almost. The irony was that she had specifically asked for the woman to visit her and record the events leading up to her imprisonment, so she had no reason to wish the young woman wasn’t there. The prison administrator had taken some persuading, but Babs still had powerful connections outside, and that had helped.
‘The year I met my husband,’ she muttered and lowered her head in thought, trying to take her mind back several years. ‘It was when I was having an affair with his father, William. He liked to be called Bill. It was in the late sixties. I was about eighteen or nineteen. I was studying for my degree in Chemical Engineering. I met Bill at a University Ball. He was a handsome, strong, forceful man. I was fascinated by him.’ She sighed, recalling the memory. ‘The affair burned itself out. That’s when I got to know Gus. He was about fifteen years older than me, give or take.’
Babs thought of her youth, her beauty, now faded. The silky blonde hair had become dry and grey, like thin cords. It was no wonder; she was over sixty and her years in prison hadn’t helped. She studied the backs of her hands where the truth always rested. Whatever face a woman tried to present to the world, whatever falsehood about her age, the truth was in the hands.
‘William Mason, Bill, you said,’ the young woman reminded her. ‘How old would he have been then?’
‘About fifty-three or so.’
The writer scribbled on for a short while. Babs watched her intently. The young woman looked up and brushed a small, wisp of hair from her face.
‘Would you say that that was when it all began?’
Babs smiled. ‘The truth is that it began a long, long time before that, but none of us were to know. Not then anyway.’
‘Could you elaborate on that?’
Babs thought about the statement she had just made, about it all beginning a long, long time ago, and the names of people she had never heard of; names that meant nothing to her, some who had died before she had been born. Now she knew them all; each and every one of them. Their destinies were as much hers as they were theirs. Their paths began in different places, in different times, but each path had moved inexorably closer until they were linked as one. And that single path finished in the walls of this cell and would be consigned to the pages of the young writer’s notebook. In there would be the names of the strangers, of the loved ones, of the deceit, the cunning and the violence, of the life and death of Babs Mason.
‘Well perhaps I should start at the moment I knew my husband was going to become President of the United States of America.’
PART ONE
ONE
Newark 1994
BABS MASON WAS waiting for her husband, Gus outside the New Jersey Supreme Court house. It was a warm evening, pleasant with a little breeze. There wasn’t a great deal of traffic about, but plenty of pedestrians and some joggers making their way across to the park. Kids walked by with their earpieces in listening to their Walkman, and youngsters carrying backpacks hurried along, fresh out of school. Babs had positioned herself so that she could see right through the doors of the court house, knowing she would spot her man as soon as he walked into the huge lobby.
Babs Mason was forty-seven and still a very attractive woman. Her figure was trim from the jogging she enjoyed down by the lake, and the fact that she paid attention to her fitness regime and diet. She and Gus Mason made a fine couple and were enormously popular among business acquaintances and the various clubs of which they were members. Babs felt privileged to be part of Gus’s life. They had no family other than Gus’s father, William. He liked to be called Bill, and could be a strange fellow at times. Babs had known him intimately once and still had a sweet spot for him, which she would often deny to herself. Her relationship with Gus’s father was how she came to meet Gus. At first, many of their peer group thought Babs and Gus were seeing each other, but the truth was that Babs and Bill Mason were indulging themselves in a passionate affair. It burned itself out eventually, and Babs found herself attracted to Gus, although she sometimes wondered if it was an attraction borne out of a suppressed desire to remain close to his father.
She caught sight her husband as a group of people came through the open doors and raised her hand. Mason lifted his and waved when he saw her. Babs could tell by the look on his face it was good news. He was such a handsome man, she thought; it was no wonder other women showed an overt interest in him.
Mason slung his arm round her and kissed her briefly on the lips. Babs responded and then pulled away, hooking her arm into his. She fell into step beside him and they walked to her black Lincoln convertible, which she had parked in the Memorial Field parking lot across the road from the court house.
‘Well, how did it go?’ she asked. There was a marked anticipation in her voice which she found hard to disguise; part of the game really.
Gus Mason looked down at her lovely face as they stepped on to the sidewalk on Washington Avenue. He couldn’t keep her waiting any longer.
‘He’s going to back me,’ he said, and squeezed her hand.
Babs stopped and turned towards him, looking straight into his lovely, blue eyes. ‘That’s wonderful news, Gus.’ The noise from the passing traffic was lost to her as she pulled him close and kissed him again. ‘Really wonderful news.’
Gus Mason was the archetypal modern American. He had graduated cum laude from Harvard Law School and joined the United States Attorney’s Office in Newark. He ran the criminal division until being named chief counsel, and would have almost certainly been appointed attorney general. But Mason had no intention of becoming a permanent trial court lawyer; he had his eye on the bigger prize in Congress. His first step along that most insecure road was to become elected as a representative to the Newark State Senate. Between them, Gus and Babs had deliberately cultivated friendships among the big hitters in the local community. But to seek representation meant winning the support of those men and women who were at the heart of local politics and could help give Mason the step up he needed.
Gus had never had any problem mixing with other people, although in some cases he had to work on a relationship and ensure it didn’t look contrived. But in the main it was as though everything was preordained in his life; a privilege accorded to few peop
le. He had achieved a high standing among his colleagues, both as a lawyer and as a friend. But to seek the advancement he wanted, he needed the backing of one of the men most likely to help his cause, and that was Henry Lawrence, an associate Supreme Court justice.
Lawrence had worked at the Newark court for almost twenty years and had risen through several offices, holding senior positions until he was nominated by President Reagan as associate justice of the United States Supreme Court. He still maintained an office in the Newark court and had many influential friends in high places around the political system in America. His standing among the community was exemplary, and it was Lawrence’s support that Gus Mason had been promised. With Lawrence’s influence, Mason stood an excellent chance of being elected to the State senate, providing they could swing the governor’s approval and secure Mason’s nomination.
‘Gus, honey,’ Babs said as they settled themselves into the soft leather seats of the Lincoln. ‘I’ve arranged a little dinner party this weekend; kind of a celebration.’
Mason clipped his seat belt into place. ‘What’s it in aid of?’ he asked glibly.
Babs tossed her head and allowed her blonde hair to fall back over her shoulders as she gunned the motor into life. ‘As if you didn’t know,’ she said, her eyes twinkling.
She swung the Lincoln away from the parking lot and into the traffic flow with barely a glance at the road in front of her. The car bounced a little as it rolled on to the tarmac. ‘We’re meeting Ann Robbins,’ she said, looking at him quickly. Her eyes sparkled, but there was a question there.
Ann Robbins was a state senator. She was divorced and something of a man-eater. She could also make or break people, and was another one that Mason needed on his side.
Gus frowned. ‘She doesn’t like me, Babs, you know that.’
Babs pulled the car out of the nearside lane and passed a truck. The diesel engine roared at them as she slid by.
‘Well you’re going to have to change that, honey.’ She pushed the throttle down and powered her way up Washington Avenue. ‘Otherwise you won’t make state senate.’
Ann Robbins was the kind of woman who wanted men on her terms. And to play Babs’s Mason’s game with Robbins could spell disaster for Mason. He knew exactly why his wife believed they should curry favour with the senator, and how they should go about it. Robbins had already voiced the opinion, albeit discreetly, that Gus Mason would not be an asset to the state legislature. The one thing that concerned Babs and her husband was the quaint but deadly tradition of senatorial courtesy. With this odd concession to incumbent senators, any one of them could block the governor’s nomination of a candidate without having to justify their reason for doing so. And unless Gus Mason could get into Senator Ann Robbins’ good books, Babs was convinced she would block his nomination.
Hence the dinner party.
The young woman stopped writing and looked up from her notepad.
‘So Ann Robbins was a hurdle you had to overcome?’
Babs nodded, wishing she’d never met the senator. ‘You could say that. Ann Robbins liked men, but she also liked power, control. She wanted to get my husband into the sack, no doubt about that.’ Babs clenched her teeth and squeezed her lips into a compressed grimace. ‘Pure bitch, that one,’ she added, shaking her head slowly, missing the irony. ‘She probably would have enjoyed my husband’s rough sex.’
The young writer looked at Babs, a shocked expression on her face. ‘Your husband…?’
Babs nodded and smiled grimly. ‘He might have looked sugar and spice on the outside, honey, but he was a different animal on the inside.’
‘And yet you deliberately arranged the dinner party,’ the young writer pointed out. ‘Surely you were taking a risk?’
Babs agreed. ‘Yes, but I believed it was a risk worth taking.’ She shrugged philosophically. ‘But it didn’t end the way I planned it.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Nothing, actually,’ Babs answered. ‘Not at first, anyway, but I do remember the evening as if it were yesterday.’
She lowered her head and peered over the top of her half-moon glasses at the young writer. ‘If only it were yesterday,’ she admitted.
Ann Robbins arrived punctually at the Masons’ home overlooking the Deerfield Golf and Tennis Club. She had used her own car; it meant she would have to avoid alcohol. That way she would remain in control during the evening and not run the risk of being breathalyzed by over zealous police on the drive home. It was small things like this, the attention to detail and the preparedness that made Senator Robbins such a formidable opponent in the legislature.
Babs welcomed her at the door with a fixed smile, and led her through into the lounge where Gus Mason was scanning an old Newsweek magazine. He was dressed casually in an open-neck, short-sleeved shirt and tan slacks. He stood up and put the magazine down, then greeted Robbins with a kiss on both cheeks.
‘Good to see you, Senator.’ He could smell her perfume. It was fragrant, but not excessive.
Robbins laughed. ‘Ann, please.’
Mason’s eyes widened. ‘You look good.’ He pointed to the drinks cabinet. ‘Can I get you something?’
‘Sparkling water, please,’ she told him, ‘with a little ice and lemon.’
‘I’ll get that,’ Babs offered. ‘You two chat.’ She turned on her heel and left them to talk.
When the senator had her drink, Mason gestured towards an armchair beside the fireplace. Robbins smiled and lowered herself carefully into the chair, smoothing her skirt beneath her as she sat down. When they were both settled, Mason began the small talk that usually precedes the more relaxed conversation. They generalized about the weather and each other’s well-being. While they were talking, Mason took the opportunity to study her.
Ann Robbins was about forty years of age and very striking. It wasn’t difficult to see how men could be attracted to her. Her hair was cut in a short style, blonde with just the hint of dark roots showing. She still had a very good figure and showed no signs of weight problems. She had a lively personality which was the key to her attractiveness, but Mason knew that she was quite adept at hiding the spiteful side of her character, so her personality surfaced easily above her dark side. And all the while he was studying her; he knew he was being studied too.
Babs came through to the lounge. ‘Ann, Gus, dinner is ready.’ She didn’t wait for a response. ‘Would you like wine with your meal?’
The senator stood up. ‘No thank you, Babs; I’m staying sober tonight.’ She followed her into the dining room with Mason taking up the rear. The table had been laid with simplicity, but with a touch of elegance. Around the room Babs had placed candles which were now fluttering and throwing distinct shadows over the walls, which enhanced the subdued lighting.
While the three of them ate there was an edge to the atmosphere around the table. It was nothing to do with the food, nor the furniture, but the fact that all three of them knew why Babs had invited Ann Robbins to dinner. There was an affectation in Babs’s manner that her husband noticed. It made him feel self-conscious, and he wondered if it wasn’t having the opposite effect that his wife had intended. It wasn’t easy to detect a similar attitude in Ann Robbins though, such was the clever way in which she was able to hide her true feelings, but Mason knew he and Babs would have to be on their guard.
‘I understand you have Henry Lawrence’s backing for the Senate?’ she said to Mason, referring to the decision the judge had made.
‘I certainly have. It took a great deal of persuasion,’ he told her. ‘I think he was a bit reluctant at first.’
Babs winced. She thought her husband was being a little too honest.
‘Why do you say that?’ Robbins asked him.
He shrugged. ‘It was like walking on eggshells, you know. I couldn’t just go up to him and ask for his backing; I needed to do it with a certain amount of care.’
‘Has he spoken to the governor?’
Mason arched his e
yebrows. ‘Jack Berry?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think he would be prepared to endorse me if he hadn’t spoken to Governor Berry beforehand.’
‘Quite. I’m sure he would have done. Have you met him socially?’
Mason nodded. ‘Often, but most of the time I see him, it’s like two ships passing. Always busy,’ he added.
Robbins frowned. ‘Pity. It would have helped had you known him a little better.’ She glanced quickly around the table. ‘A little dinner party like this to gain favour with him, perhaps?’
Babs winced again at the obvious innuendo.
Mason caught the barb and ran with it. ‘How else can we get to know our peers outside of court rooms and golf courses?’ He looked directly at her.
‘By making friends on the way up?’ she suggested. ‘You know what they say about meeting them on the way down.’
‘And what about you, Ann,’ Babs asked. ‘Have you made any friends on the way up?’
She shook her head. ‘No more than I need to. I cultivate the friendships I need.’
‘How?’ she asked. ‘With dinner parties?’
Robbins shook her head again and looked directly at Gus. ‘No, I use other methods.’ There was a slight inflexion in her voice.
‘In what way?’
‘Personal and intimate.’ She didn’t elaborate.
Babs thought the senator’s voice had lowered a notch as she said that.
The conversation continued without the animation one associates with informal dinner parties. It was more affected than spontaneous. Both Babs and her husband sensed it. The senator, though, seemed to be leading the table talk, which was beginning to get under Babs’s skin. There was very little sign of any real intimacy developing between the three of them. Babs wasn’t sure she wanted her husband to get that close, but something of a softening of the table talk and more humour would have helped.
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