Final Judgment (27 page)

“Those are exactly the reasons you wanted his help. He’s good at what he does and he’s highly motivated. I’ll bet that’s a quote right out of the FBI recruiting manual,” Mason said, jabbing a finger at her.

“First page,” Kelly said, slapping his hand away. She looked up and down the street, Mason following her eyes.

“All clear?”

“Habit,” she said. “I like to see trouble before it gets here.”

Kelly stared at him again, this time her face open. She was ready to listen if he was ready to talk. He wasn’t, not until he understood her agenda.

“If you’re sending me a message, I need a translator,” Mason said.

Kelly did a slow circuit of the porch, poking her head around the corners of the house, coming back to Mason, who was standing at the top of the steps.

“Your client may be a con man, but I don’t think he killed Charles Rockley.”

“Did you tell that to the cops?”

“Detective Cates blew me off; made some noise that the Bureau should stick to catching terrorists and leave the street crime to the cops.”

“I’ve met Cates. He’s a wonderful conversationalist.”

“Typical macho cop. Confuses his dick with his gun and probably can’t fire either one. He likes Fish for the murder because they don’t have a better choice. He doesn’t care that there’s no connection between Fish and Rockley. Or that Fish is too old to have taken Rockley down, let alone cut off his head and hands. Rockley was killed by a professional or a psychopath and Fish doesn’t qualify for either, but Cates sees it the way he wants it to be.”

“Rockley was in the FBI’s database, which means he either had a record or he was a spook. I talked to his prior employers and they couldn’t wait to have him back. That doesn’t fit.”

Kelly furrowed her brow. “Where did you get his employment history?”

Mason told her part of the truth. “From Galaxy’s lawyer, Lari Prillman. Tell me who Rockley really was.”

Kelly folded her arms, dipped her chin to her chest, and did a slow half turn in place. Straightening, she clasped her hands behind her back and answered him.

“His real name was Tommy Corcoran. When he was in his twenties, he was a grifter—ran small-time cons. He had a mean side and did time for sexual assault. That’s how he got into our database. After he got out, he picked up a new identity and stayed off our radar until someone handed him his head.”

“Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that Wayne McBride is masquerading as Al Webb, skimming money from Galaxy Casino, and Tommy Corcoran, a.k.a. Charles Rockley, is also working at Galaxy? And the FBI can’t connect those dots?”

“Believe me, we tried. McBride worked the Midwest. Corcoran operated strictly in New Jersey. There’s nothing to connect them until they show up in Kansas City. Then there’s Johnny Keegan.”

“What do you have on Keegan?”

“Just what I got from Detective Griswold. Why was Keegan holding on to your name and phone number when he was killed?

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of him,” Mason said, holding both hands up. “The guy was in enough trouble to get killed; it’s no surprise he needed a lawyer. Don’t tell me he had a secret past too.”

“Not that we’ve found.”

“Which gets us back to my client being innocent. Griswold seems like a reasonable guy. Maybe you can convince him not to charge Fish?”

“Are you certain you want me to do that?”

Mason took a step back. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Kelly dropped her arms to her sides, her hands on her hips. “Because Griswold might start asking himself the same questions I’ve been asking myself. Like why was Blues checking out Rockley’s apartment before I told you that Rockley was the dead man? And why were you and Blues talking to Mark Hill and taking pictures down in Fairfax? And why were you talking to Vince Bongiovanni about Carol Hill’s sexual harassment case? And why do you want me to investigate another FBI agent?”

Mason saw no point in telling her that Griswold was already asking him enough questions to make his shoes tight. “Was Brewer the leak?”

“I’ll deal with Brewer. Answer my questions.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I answer yours, you answer mine.”

Kelly crossed her arms. Mason smiled. She tapped her foot. He smiled again. “Fine,” she said, not meaning it. “You first.”

“Fair enough. Here’s what I know. Carol Hill sued Rockley for sexual harassment. Somebody killed Rockley and hid his body in the trunk of my client’s car on the same day we were supposed to make a deal with Pete Samuelson. Your pal Brewer breaks the news to Samuelson about the dead body just as we’re about to ink the plea bargain. Samuelson shits his pants and says no deal. Samuelson and his boss change their mind and invite us back last Friday to make a new deal. Suddenly, Brewer is out and you’re in.”

“I don’t need the history lesson.”

“Wrong. History is written by the winners and this case is still a jump ball, so pay attention. Friday morning you tell me about Rockley. Friday night, Blues and I find Carol Hill’s husband, Mark, in that bar in Fairfax. He tells us that his wife was having an affair with Keegan. Mark leaves and runs his pickup into a car parked across the street. Two guys are in the car; one jumps out and clocks poor Mark. The other guy gets on the phone and Brewer shows up two minutes later. We head for home and you nearly rear-end us.”

“Tell me, Lou. Did you think if you said it fast enough and cute enough, I wouldn’t realize you hadn’t answered any of my questions? I’ve got a picture of Blues outside Rockley’s apartment taken on Thursday and I don’t think he was selling encyclopedias door to door. I didn’t tell you about Rockley until Friday morning. Eight hours later, you had tracked down Mark Hill. How did you manage that?”

“I’m good at what I do.”

“You’re not that good. Carol Hill’s lawsuit is a private arbitration, not a matter of public record. You couldn’t have known about it unless someone told you and I didn’t. Vince Bongiovanni didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have known that he represented Carol until after you found out about her case. And that’s not the kind of information big companies like Galaxy give to strangers, especially lawyers.”

“It doesn’t matter how I knew.”

“It does to me if it means you’re connected to all of this by something other than Avery Fish.”

“I don’t have any connection to Carol Hill, Charles Rockley, Johnny Keegan, or the Galaxy Casino.”

“But you do have a connection to the Dream Casino. That’s what the Galaxy was called when Ed Fiori owned it. You didn’t represent him either. But, you were there when he died.”

Mason was dancing as fast as he could, but Kelly was a step ahead.

“Ed Fiori is ancient history.”

“There is no such thing as ancient history. The past is always waiting there to bite us in the ass. I did some digging after we found out about the sexual harassment case. Fiori was Vince Bongiovanni’s and Carol Hill’s uncle. Galaxy bought the casino from Fiori’s estate. Bongiovanni was the executor. He accused Galaxy of fraud and sued to set the sale aside, only the case was thrown out. Maybe the two of them set Rockley up so they could get even with Galaxy.”

“None of which has anything to do with me.”

“Then why won’t you answer my questions?”

“I did. You just didn’t like the answers. It’s your turn. Was Brewer the leak?”

Kelly blew her exasperation away in a fog of frosted breath. “You are beyond salvage. You know that? Beyond salvage.”

“So sell me for scrap, but tell me about Brewer first.”

She took a smaller breath that calmed her. “I don’t know. Proving that Brewer was the leak is almost impossible unless Rachel Firestone has him on tape and agrees to give it up.”

“Rachel will never give up her sources.”

“Then I’ll probably never know if Brewer was the leak.”

“Which makes us even. You don’t like my answers to your questions and I don’t like your answers to mine.”

“You always get in over your head. You can’t help it any more than Avery Fish can resist trying to steal the government’s money. I can’t keep my eye on both of you. Talk to me before it’s too late,” she said.

Mason tried staring her down, but there was more steel in her eyes than in his. He would have settled for a smart-ass comeback, but he didn’t have one. All he had was a twisted gut he was about to choke on. He walked away without answering, not stopping until he reached his car. He opened the driver’s door, lingering for a moment, looking back at her. It was still early, the street quiet. He ducked behind the wheel, fired the ignition, and drove away wondering if it already was too late.

FIFTY-FIVE

Vince Bongiovanni made enough money suing corporations to build a building with his name on it, complete with corporate logo and slogan—
Doing the People’s Business
. The logo was a golden eagle in flight holding silver scales of justice in its beak and was positioned above the entrance at an angle to reflect the sun off the eagle’s shiny wings and bounce it again off the silvery scales. It was a not so subliminal message to potential clients to stop by and pick up their money.

The building was located at the intersection of Rockhill Road and Brush Creek Boulevard, east of the Plaza. The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art loomed over its shoulder to the north. The Kaufman Foundation, devoted to education and entrepreneurship, sat across from it. The Stowers Institute, dedicated to curing cancer, rose on the opposite corner. The University of Missouri at Kansas City occupied the fourth corner of the intersection. Bongiovanni said that his building was dedicated to justice and was, therefore, a perfect complement to his neighbors.

His firm was on the third floor, the bottom two floors rented to other lawyers in pursuit of justice as their clients defined it. His private office would have accommodated three or four of Mason’s, the artwork alone worth more than Mason’s annual gross.

Mason tried not to be jealous, remembering his Aunt Claire’s admonition not to be a prisoner of his possessions. Still, he conceded a twinge of envy, noting how well things had gone for Bongiovanni and wondering if he could have done the same had he stayed with the law firm he started with when he graduated from law school, a small group that had also grown rich representing plaintiffs. He’d left that firm in a dispute over ethics, though with the passage of years it was hard to remember the details or summon the passion of that moment.

Ancient history
, he told himself, though Kelly had been right when she said there was no such thing as ancient history, if the phrase was supposed to mean that the past was dead and buried. Life was much more of a loop, colliding with the past, than it was a straight line running away from it.

Bongiovanni showed him into his private office, motioning him to a chair, taking the one opposite Mason, who declined his offer of an espresso. Wynton Marsalis’s
Magic
album was playing on the sound system, speakers and components invisible, riffs, rhythms, and melodies layered like a canopy above them. A CD case lay on the table. Mason couldn’t tell if it was for the music or something else, remembering the CD that had been stolen from Lari Prillman’s safe. Bongiovanni was using it as a coaster for his coffee cup.

“Might as well get down to it,” Bongiovanni said. “I need help with Charles Rockley.”

Rockley’s history as a sex offender would blow the lid off of Carol Hill’s case, especially if Galaxy knew about it, ending any doubts about Carol’s credibility and hoisting Galaxy onto the liability hook. Bongiovanni would smack Galaxy in its corporate face with that evidence. It would also put more pressure on Vanessa Carter to reopen the hearing before issuing her ruling. That realization was like twin screws on a vise around Mason’s neck. But it was all he had to give Bongiovanni. If he got a tape of his conversation with Ed Fiori in return, it might be worth the risk.

Mason nodded. “Maybe you should reconsider settling the case.”

“I told you before. We aren’t interested in anything but Judge Carter’s decision.”

Bongiovanni had described Carol’s case as a toss-up, yet neither of them would consider settling it. Mason’s information about Rockley would only harden their determination to make Galaxy suffer.

Bongiovanni picked up his coffee cup, giving Mason a good look at the CD case. Mason had boxed himself in. He had to give Bongiovanni something, and the truth about Rockley was all he had.

Bongiovanni tapped a corner of the CD case on the table in a failed effort to match the beat of the music. Mason winced, each tap like a needle piercing his skin. He bit his tongue to keep from licking his lips, unable to take his eyes off the CD, desperate to know if he was on it, his past about to collide with his present.

“You all right?” Bongiovanni asked. “You look like you’ve got the DTs.”

Mason forced a smile. “Late night, early morning. I’d like to get a look at what you found in Ed Fiori’s office.”

“You keep telling me that and I keep wondering why. It couldn’t involve Carol’s case since Ed has been dead for three years and she’s only worked at Galaxy for a little over a year. So it has to be something personal to you. I did Ed’s legal work or farmed it out so I know he never retained you. Which means your business with him wasn’t of the sort you normally did. How am I doing so far?”

“I’m not a jury. You don’t have to convince me.”

Bongiovanni smiled. “Uncle Ed was an interesting guy. Some days he was good and other days he was bad. He liked to play around the edges. That must be where the two of you did some business—around the edges, I mean. Whatever it was, you figured it died with Ed, but you couldn’t be sure and you’ve spent all this time waiting for the other shoe to drop. This case comes along and gives you the chance to trade some information for peace of mind. That about it?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Makes all the difference. Peace of mind doesn’t come cheap. I hope you’ve got something worth it.”

Kelly Holt had made the connection between him and Ed Fiori, though she hadn’t filled in all the gaps. It wouldn’t be long before she found her way to Judge Carter. Bongiovanni had a completely different piece of the story. If he sensed it would help him in his private war against Galaxy, he’d keep pushing until he too found his way to Judge Carter and the blackmail scheme.